The Wagner incident
by Nilgandater
Summary: A young boy exploring his strange abilities must not only survive the hardships of working in an Imperial mining facility but also the attention of far darker forces. As he faces the likes of mutants and heretics he slowly realizes he is different from the rest.With chapter 9 the intro is done and we move on to the 1st story arc.
1. Chapter 1 Forged

**After some time spent on work, family, and world domination I have finally added the 1st chapter after the prelude. Working on the next chapter now where we will see more of Shubs ordeals and the first hints of imminent danger. If you have questions, requests, suggestions please review or send a PM :)**

**This is my first fan fiction piece based in the Warhammer 40.000 universe. I am a long time player of the tabletop game and dabble in the occasional game of Only War (RPG) If the story pleases the readers of this website I will continue to add to it.**

**I neither own the Warhammer 40.000 universe nor do I work for any of the companies who do own it **

**Chapter 1 In fire forged**

**Segmentum Tempestus, Orpheus Sector, Wagner System, Wagner Secundus , Munitorum Refinery 223.88**

Awake. Coughing, muttered curses and the repetitive whine of faulty machinery recycling stale air.

Shub opened his eyes, waiting patiently for his vision to get accustomed to the dim lights in the room he shared with about two dozen others. A variety of smells assaulted his senses, none of them pleasant: sweat, urine, the stink of rotten teeth and other bodily odours.

As the rest of the occupants noisily went about their routines the boy warily scanned his surroundings as he reached under his filthy shirt to check if his few meagre belongings were still there. His hands grasped the pouch and sighed with relief. Grown men were killed over trinkets these days he was pretty sure people would have no qualms over killing him for what he carried.

Slowly he traced the shape of the small Aquila pendant hidden in the pouch, its edges warm to the touch and worn by a thousand similar caresses.

The metal pendant represented the last link with his past. A past he knew very little off. He was 12 years old, terran standard, and had been working in Manufactorium Forge Gamma IX for as long as he could remember. The years of hard labour in the claustrophobic tunnels and hallways had aged him beyond his years. Tall for his age, his body was thin and packed with wiry muscles and covered in welts and scars from various accidents, fights, or lashings by one of the overseers. His head was covered in short stubble as all the labourers were doused with a chemical mixture once every month to kill parasites with the added effect of removing all hair. Grey eyes set in a thin face with a rather hawkish nose gave him an inquisitive air.

Taking a moment longer Shub recalled his parents. The chaos of a large city. Massed humanity screaming, Enforcers shouting and cracking skulls and limbs left and right with great mauls. The face of his mother in the distance, mouth working furiously to make herself heard over the din of the crowd. Then the sound of explosions and a wave of violence as thousands of men and women surged as one to flee. Pain as he fell, a young boy only, tossed aside and trod upon. Then darkness.

Six years ago but still every detail was as clear and precise as if it had happened seconds ago. In those six years he had come to realize he was different and that his mind sometimes pulled strange tricks on him.

A mechanical voice started droning a litany of labour over the Manufactorum network and Shub's eyes opened. His attention once again on his surroundings and the figure towering over him. The boy was 3 years his senior and vastly larger. A broad face with slightly porcine features connected to a flabby chest with no discernible neck and arms and legs like enormous pillars of flesh.

One could have mistaken Gorond for a grown man had it not been for the childish grin on his face as he studied Shub.

He playfully swatted Shub on the shoulder, knocking him over in the process. "Still dreaming Shub? You'd better hurry up or Overseer Malnaden will have your hide"

The giant of a youth extended a large beefy hand and pulled Shub from the ground.

"If you didn't insist on behaving like a drunk Grox I would have been on my way to the forge already Gor!" Shub replied with a grin. He ducked another of Gorond's playful swings, punched the young man in the side (achieving about as much effect as a snotling poking a hillside) and darted towards the doorway of the dormitory where the rest of the labourers were already on their way to work.

Despite being a spectacular physical mismatch Shub and Gorond had become friends from the moment they first met. After Shub had awoken one day in a grimy holding pen covered in bruises and bandages he would have lost it if it hadn't been for the lumbering adolescent trying to calm him.

Claiming to be the son of an underhive trader Gorond had explained to Shub that they were part of a large group of children and young men captured and forced into service as labourers.

After crying for days on end and several beatings by other labourers Shub learned that it paid to fade into the background and blend with the crowd. Endless days of pushing carts filled with ore or carrying stacks of components left him with very little time to think about his misfortune.

His fellow labourers consisted of hundreds of grim men and children, most claiming to have been robbed of their freedom and forced to work. Not many complained for long though. The lashes of the overseers took care of the loudest protestors and those that continued to voice their objections were taken and never seen again.

In these strained social settings violence and crime were commonplace. Theft, beatings, even murder.

Shub and Gorond soon discovered that they were a natural team. Shub was smarter and faster and had a miraculous gift for retaining knowledge while Gorond was extremely strong for his age with a natural aptitude for cracking heads and throwing punches. In their first months as captive labourers they had fought, lied, and threatened their way into their natural place in the social ecosystem.

"I hear the Fangers are planning to raid the med bay tonight" Gorond whispered as he walked next to Shub through the cramped hallways. Shub glanced furtively at his surroundings "Quiet!" he whispered anxiously "If anyone hears us talking about raids or gangs we will be sent to the butchers for sure!" Gorond shrugged "The butchers are just scary stories told by the overseers to keep us in line" "Besides, I would do anything to get out of this hellhole"

The two boys kept their voices down and their pace up as they moved down the dark corridors of the Manufactorum. As they progressed the temperature increased and the rhythmic sounds of pistons and machinery could be heard in the distance. Only the occasional servitor crossed their path, blank eyes staring out of a pasty white face, movement's mechanical and devoid of any grace. Shub shuddered as he passed them and made the sign of the Aquila before hurrying onwards.

The tunnel opened into a cavernous hall lit from within by hellish fires erupting from forges and machines dotting the area. The workers quickly moved to their designated workstations where Shub and Gorond retrieved a set of shovels to fill carts with some type of rock. Around them hundreds of men worked in the terrible heat and smoke. The air was filled with grunts of effort and the occasional curse.

Shub cursed in pain as a heavy piece of rock tumbled from its position and landed on his foot. He had been loading carts for several hours now with only a brief pause to greedily gulp down the canteen of warm water they were given. He rested his weight on the shovel for a few seconds to regain his composure.

"Back to work you worthless piece of scum!" a voice bellowed behind him followed by a cracking sound and intense burning pain on his back. Stunned by the sudden pain Shub could only lie on the floor and grit his teeth. Standing right next to him was a tall muscular man dressed in a drab grey uniform. A skullcap left only his eyes and snarling smile bare. In his hands he held a whip worn with years of intensive use.

Several workers glanced from their workstations but took care not to attract any attention. Gorond glared at the overseers back with barely contained hatred but kept shovelling rocks.

"I beg forgiveness Overseer Malnaden" Shub said as he got back on his feet, taking care not to look the man in the eye.

The man cracked his knuckles "If you are not fit to work then you are worthless, scum" he eyed the other men nearby staring at each of them in turn."There is no room for weakness in service to the God-Emperor" "So you had better all get back to business or the butchers will have a busy night ahead of them" With a final look of disdain the Overseer moved on.

As soon as the Overseer had left Gorond rushed to Shub's side. "You all right?"

Shub grimaced and straightened his back. "I am used to the whip, it's my foot I am worried about" he said as he carefully tried to move his foot. Immediately he winced. "I think its broken Gor"

Gorond cursed and looked around. "Can you still stand Shub?" "If you make it through the rest of the day we can see the Doc over in Block 12"

The boy carefully put his foot down taking care to only put pressure on the heel. He nodded to his friend "I think I can manage until end of shift if that frekking Overseer doesn't show up.

"**Frekkin **overseer eh?" a sneering high pitched voice exclaimed. A group of five young men stood in a semi circle around them. They were obviously labourers as well with thick muscles and various scars and burns. Compared to the general populace they looked well fed though and they wore arrogant smirks on their faces.

The leader of the group eyed Shub and Gorond contemptuously "I think we shall have to inform Overseer Malnaden of your treacherous and filthy language"

Shub's mind raced as he tried to recall everything he knew about these individuals. Every detail and possible weakness. Immediately he remembered their names: Kel, Griffor,Vuzius, Wyrzbowski, and their leader Horst. All from the same upper Hive gang originally ,with some form of leverage with the Overseers and Enforcers. As his extraordinary mind sped up and made connections the information kept flooding. Griffor and Vuzius were addicted to inhaling bloodmist, a highly toxic drug causing hallucinations and internal bleeding. Wyrzbowski had a younger brother working in Manufactorum Delta IV whom he protected at all costs. Kel had a torn ligament in his right knee from a workplace accident five weeks ago. And Horst too had a weakness...

In mere seconds all this information wormed it's way into Shub's consciousness arming him with a powerful weapon.

With a smile Shub stared into Horst's eyes. "You and I both know why you will do no such thing Horst"

"What in Thrones name are you talking about?" Horst replied. Shub mentally took note of the slight twitch in Horst's left hand and the slight discolouration in his face and neck.

The two locked gazes for what seemed an eternity. Suddenly Horst whirled around and walked off, his face twisted in a mask of rage and his henchmen following him with bewildered expressions.

Shub exhaled and realized he hadn't drawn breath for quite some time.

"What was that all about?" Gorond inquired. "On second thought, I'd rather not know"

"Let's just get back to work and try and not avoid any more unwanted attention." Shub said biting away the pain. Sweat ran down his head and back but despite the oppressive heat he shivered.

**Manufactorium Forge Gamma IX, a secure room far from prying eyes**

"_The boy is learning to use his strengths at last." A robed and hooded man sat behind a console showing various screens, all of them focussed on the face of a young boy with grey eyes._

"_Forces are in motion and we dare not delay" The man sighed deeply. "Proceed as planned._

"_As you command Master" From the shadows a hulking shape emerged, pallid flesh merged to cold steel. Cables and tubes connected to a large saw-like device. An emotionless face with a thick metal grille covering mouth and nose._


	2. Chapter 2 Freedom

**Chapter 2 Freedom of form**

Wagner Secundus was the second most important planet in the Wagner System. Once a fertile agri-world, that had changed dramatically when valuable minerals and ores were found in the planets tectonic plates.

Over a period of centuries great machines harvested the upper layers of soil and processed them for resources. Wagner's farms and orchards were replaced with gargantuan factorum buildings housing millions of workers. Great Hive cities dotted the landscape like metal pustules on the planet skin, oozing chemical waste, toxic smoke and human excrement.

Gamma Quadrant was one of the sectors located in the northern continent nestled right next to a massive mountain range rich in several valuable types of raw material. It was also the sectors foremost producer of the Wagner class Mark VII Lasgun, a humble weapon wielded by millions of guardsmen throughout the sector. Over a dozen near identical city sized Factorums churned out the base components required to assemble the Mark VII.

All this had a cost however. With the notable exception of industrial ores the planets other resources were depleted: Water needed a lengthy process of purification and food had to be either imported from one of the systems Agri-moons or produced from recycled waste.

Never the less Wagner's populace toiled endlessly under the watchful eyes of the Administratum. Most of them technically still free men but with little hope of a life beyond labour from cradle to the grave.

Captain Tannhauser of the Wagnerian Planetary Defence Force straightened his uniform as he paced the interior of the top room of one of the many foreboding grey plascrete watchtowers that rose all around the perimeter of Manufactorum Gamma IX. A pair of well maintained heavy stubbers faced out towards the barren wasteland surrounding the huge complex. On any given day a pair of PDF troopers would be manning the guns as well as a squad equipped with an auspex and voxcaster.

This evening the Captain shared the room with only one other occupant. Tannhauser glanced nervously at the other man as he ran his hand through his thinning grey hair. With five decades of active PDF service age was starting to take its toll on his once excellent physique.

"I assure you dear Captain; you have made the right choice by assisting me in this matter." The man spoke with a soft cultured voice in complete contrast to his muscular build and ruthless gaze. Clad in the garments of one of the nomadic scavenger tribes of the toxic wastes the man easily stood 7 feet tall and moved with the controlled efficiency of a seasoned killer. "_Tribal smuggler my iron bollocks" _Tannhauser thought as he eyed the balanced curved blade the man carried in a leather scabbard on his back. _"This man is military if ever I laid eyes on one, former guardsman from one of Wagner Primus regiments judging by his accent"_

"The righteous men doing the Emperor's work here deserve their small pleasures to distract them from their hard work." Tannhauser said, more to justify his actions to himself then to sway the opinion of the so-called tribesman. "Besides, I'd rather have them indulging in some minor intoxicants then raping or killing." The other man nodded "Just so, Captain, just so" "You are sure my men will be able to move through the perimeter undetected to deliver their goods?"

Tannhauser checked the readings on the pictscreen of his data slate."All eyes are turned away for the moment" The captain swallowed and adjusted the collar of his uniform."On the matter of delivery...Have you brought my share of the goods?" The tribesman flashed a predatory smile "Naturally dear Captain I have reserved the finest sample for your enjoyment" The man snapped his fingers and two similarly clad men emerged from beyond the room carrying a heavy casket.

As the Captain eagerly moved towards the casket and its contents, dozens of men clad in camouflaged tribal clothing and armed with lasguns and wickedly curved blades moved stealthily past the guard tower towards Manufactorum Gamma IX.

_The dream was always the same, at least initially. Shub walked through opulently decorated hallways in a huge complex. No matter where he turned or what door he opened there were always more doors and hallways. And everywhere mirrors reflecting his own face. Beyond his sight a choir sang a beautiful hymn to the God-Emperor. A sense of urgency caused him to look around for a way out. He ran though door after door until finally he emerged in a large hall empty but for a single chair with a man in it facing away from him. He dreaded the moment but knew that it would come regardless of the illusion of choice and free will. Slowly he walked towards the chair. He paused for a moment to study the garment of the chairs occupant: a well made uniform of some sorts crafted from grey cloth with various golden laurels and decorations on the shoulders. Shub reached out to grab the person by the shoulder when suddenly it lurched from the chair, spun around and screamed: jaws stretched wide under eyes stitched close with thick metal wire. A loud bloodcurdling scream that spoke of agony and torment._

"Wake up you recycled heap of dung!" Shub's eyes snapped open, the unearthly scream still ringing in his ears. Hovering next to him was the round face of Gorond wearing a worried look. "I thought you were being strangled in your sleep by the noises you were making!" Shub's friend frowned."I thought I heard a scream coming from outside the room earlier"

It took a while for Shub to recover from the disconcerting dream as usual. He checked the makeshift brace the Doc had made for him to ensure proper healing of his foot. Thankfully it was only a minor fracture.

Gorond cocked his head and sniffed the air. "Something is wrong" Around them the other workers stirred awakened by the conversation.

One of the workers eyed them dangerously and spat on the ground "Shut the frek up boy before you make me get up and…"

The door exploded inwards bursting apart in several jagged shards of plastic and a PDF trooper clutching a still smoking shotgun appeared in the opening scanning the workers inside before shouting at them "Move your asses to the forges, the Manufactorum is under attack!"

The trooper disappeared into the corridor outside with the sounds of screams and lasfire faintly in the background.

Shub and Gorond stepped out of the room into the hallway."What in Thrones name is going on?!" Gorond asked to no one in particular as he heard more gunfire in the distance interspersed by high-pitched shrieking. "More importantly" Shub interjected as he pointed to an intersection a few feet away. "What in the name of the Golden Throne is **that**?"

In the dim lighting a hunchbacked creature tested the air with a serpentine tongue. It was vaguely human and clad in rags but sporting crablike claws instead of hands and its face was dominated by three bright unblinking eyes. Thick red liquid dropped from its pincers. Its disturbingly feminine mouth opened wide in a fanged smile as it noticed the two boys gaping at it.


	3. Chapter 3 Learning the hard way

Chapter 3 Learning the hard way

Enforcer Makin ejected another depleted power cell for his lasgun and rammed in a fresh one. Sweat ran down his forehead and stung his eyes. Around him the cavernous hall of Forge Delta resounded with the crack and hiss of lasfire and the screams of the dead and dying.

"Eberhard watch your flank!" Makin shouted as a gibbering humanoid with a froglike head rushed towards their defensive position brandishing a crude spiked club. A salvo of lasfire erupted from the enforcer's barricade and the creature crashed to the floor pierced by several well aimed shots.

Makin took aim and fired off another shot hitting a spindly four armed man in the leg causing the wretch to hiss in pain and fall to the floor where a barrel-chested worker finished him off with a crushing swing of a mallet to the chest.

His group of six enforcers were in cover behind a barricade of overturned carts and boxes. They had lost four men already since the mutants attacked an hour ago and already they were running low on ammo. In the hall across from their defensive position all hell had broke loose. Mobs of workers armed with various tools were fighting for their lives against a raging horde of mutants.

Over there a hulking monstrosity, all glistening flesh pounded a man to bloody pulp with great fists. In a corner several fanged and clawed women feasted on a screaming worker, and in the central area around the main forge a menagerie of twisted and deformed creatures were locked in a vicious melee with the surviving workers.

"Grex try the voxcaster again!" Makin shouted at the dazed looking Enforcer a few feet away. The man had taken a knife to the abdomen earlier and was slowly bleeding out.

Grex turned a pale face to his fellow Enforcer "No use... Mak. No response from Captain Tannhauser" He coughed violently and clutched feebly at his tunic already slick with blood. "Were frekked Mak"

"For the Emperor! Kill the mutants! Avenge the fallen!" With a roar a large group of workers armed with pneumatic drills, plasma-cutters and pickaxes charged out of one of the tunnels connecting the Forge hall to the rest of the Manufactorum complex. Leading them was an overseer armed with a whip in one hand and firing an autopistol with the other. With his face set in a fanatical grin beneath his skullcap the overseer fired a burst of shells into a group of mutants sending several of them tumbling to the ground bleeding profusely.

Rallied by the appearance of reinforcements the remaining workers fell upon their foes with renewed vigour stabbing, crushing and sometimes even strangling their mutated opponents with their bare , Makin and his fellow Enforcers fired their lasguns into the mutants cutting several of them down with well placed shots.

"Look Mak the PDF have come at last" Grex whispered as the other Enforcers charged towards their mutant foes with lasguns blazing. Emerging from another tunnel a dozen heavily armed men in camouflaged outfits spread out and prepared to open fire.

The Enforcer mercifully died before he could see his comrades cut down by methodical and ruthless lasfire.

Shub stared at the creature in horror as it licked its red lips and snapped its two pincers rhythmically. It seemed aware of the fear the two boys exuded as its flicked its tongue seemingly tasting the air. "What precious sport you will make manlingsss" It hissed as it advanced.

"Run Shub" Gorond whispered to the younger boy. "I will try and hold it off" Shub shook his head.

"Run you Grox-brained idiot, RUN" Gorond shouted as he suddenly accelerated into a headlong charge. Conditioned by year after year of hauling ore and lifting heavy equipment, Gorond combined the strength and stamina of a full grown man with the fighting prowess of a seasoned street fighter.

The creature, caught slightly off guard could barely manage to swing a blocking pincer in place to deflect a crushing fist to its face. It quickly recovered however using a deft twist of its stance and Goronds momentum to send him hurtling past and crashing to the floor. It rushed forward to finish its prone prey. Gorond lashed out with a sweeping kick hitting the creature in mid stride and sending it to the floor where its head hit the stone with a loud crack. Immediately he capitalized on his advantage and pounced on its back hammering several strikes into the creature's neck.

With a sudden twist the creature managed to dislodge Gorond and land a kick in his stomach. He grunted with the impact but grabbed the foot with his left hand and swung the right hand at his attacker.

As Shub watched in horror the Mutant twisted one of its arms at an impossible angle and caught Goronds descending forearm between the serrated edges of its pincer. A horrible snapping sound rang out and Shubs friend screamed in pain as his hand was removed forcibly from his forearm. Blood jetted from the stump showering the grinning mutant.

"Run Shub RUUUN!" Gorond roared as he clutched his injured arm. The mutant cackled and moved closer to the wounded boy.

Somewhere in the distance an explosion rocked the building and dust and bits of debris fell from the ceiling.

Shub snapped and ran.

Behind him the sound of snapping pincers was followed by a long and bloodcurdling scream.


	4. Chapter 4 A knife's edge

Chapter 4

Fidelus Maldanen was not afraid of death. As men around him died clutching smoking wounds he whispered a prayer to the God-Emperor on Holy Terra to accept his final service. He struggled to keep from crying out in agony; his legs peppered with scorch marks where the traitors had hit him multiple times.

The group of workers he had led in glorious combat against the mutants had been mercilessly cut down by a large group of treacherous PDF Troopers.

With the ambush completed the leader of the traitors spoke a blasphemous word that was painful to hear and seemed to defy the laws of sound and logic. The remaining mutants acknowledged the traitors presence and began feasting.

Even now traitors moved amongst the wounded reaping a bloody harvest with their curved blades. As they killed they laughed and joked sometimes pausing to take extra time to prolong a workers suffering.

The old overseer reminisced about his life at Gamma IX; the harsh conditions, the lack of friends, but also his service to the Emperor. He had not been able to join the Imperial Guard as he had wished as a youth but he had spent his entire life devoted to the Imperial creed and devotion to He who sat on the Golden Throne.

The sound of a heavy boot stepping in a pool of blood snapped him out of his thoughts. A broad shouldered, dark-skinned man approached him with a predatory smile. Disturbingly, his teeth had been sharpened to pointy fangs accentuating the carnivorous look. The man's camouflaged cloak had parted at the front revealing an intricately decorated carapace breastplate. He thumbed the edge of his curved and serrated blade lovingly, drawing a thin line of blood. "Ah old man change is coming, sweet release, sweet release" He murmured.

Maldanen faced his assassin with an unwavering gaze."I return to the Emperor's embrace with great joy and comforted in a life spent serving the glory of his works"

"Your devotion to a stale, dying Empire is pathetic old man" The traitor spat. "I will enjoy your suffering" He stepped forward, his blade raised.

The aged overseer closed his eyes overcome with emotion for the first time in many years and whispered in High Gothic "Consummatum est"

As Overseer Fidelus Malnaden depressed the activation rune on the mining demolitions charge hidden beneath his body everything within a 12 feet radius was instantly vaporized by a fierce blast of chemically fuelled fire. Those further away were ripped apart by the wave of pressurized superheated air roaring through the Forge Hall. Those far enough to survive the direct blast were torn to shreds by the shrapnel and debris.

Red emergency lights winking on and off. Dust in the air. Echoes of tortured screams. The sound of his own feet running across the worn stone corridors of Gamma IX. Garbled hymns to the Emperor still rang from the speakers but they were interspersed with static and ululating cries and laughter.

Shubs mind raced as he fled without apparent sense or direction into the dimly lit corridors of the Manufactorum complex. On an emotional level he was still reeling by the loss of his friend Gorond but on an analytical level his unique mind was calculating and processing. So even though he did not consciously know where he was heading he took a very specific series of turns and branching walkways heading deeper and deeper into the vast production facility.

The way his mind worked never ceased to amaze those around him but to the boy it was just a part of who he was. He had an amazing gift for recalling minute details and could sometimes make logical connections on a level only found in sacred advanced cogitators. Even more disturbingly he sometimes seemingly anticipated future events by subconsciously calculating probabilities. And there lay both the strength and weakness of his gift: It had the potential to be powerful beyond imagining yet he had very little control over it.

Shub passed a storage room where a worker and mutant lay entangled one with a tentacle around the others throat while his victim still grasped the knife buried in his chest. He stopped and hesitated taking a moment to catch his breath.

Inching closer he recognized 'Old man Gazlow' an infamously paranoid man prone to bouts of rage. Gazlows face had turned an ugly purple and his tongue hang from his parted lips. The mutant was of a more or less normal human build with the exception of a right arm ending in a thick muscled tentacle now constricted around the old man's neck and throat. Various symbols had been etched on its body with a dark red ink. It hurt Shub's eyes to watch the way the symbols seemed to flow into each other and even writhe on the spot. He shook his head and cleared his thoughts. Carefully he pried Gazlows fingers of the hilt of the knife. It took considerable effort to pull the blade out, Shub had to resort to planting a foot on the mutant's chest and pulling with his entire weight but eventually the knife released with a grating sound.

The blade was nearly as long as his forearm and made from a broken tool sharp as a razor with a wicked serrated edge. Shub tentatively swung the blade though the air getting a feeling for its weight and balance. Even at his age he was no stranger to knife-fighting having learnt the trade from some of the toughest men and boys in the Forge. What he lacked in strength he compensated in speed and the uncanny ability to read his opponents style. He killed his first man when he was ten years old when the man had tried to corner him in a dark corridor to have his way with him.

He started as heavy footsteps resounded from the hallway. His mind worked: two sets of footsteps too heavy for a normal worker wearing the ubiquitous shirt and pants. The hard clack of metal plates in boots hitting the stone floor suggesting combat-boots. One set of steps at a slight variance to the other indicative of a slight injury to the left leg. Six seconds before they reached the room. Shub plunged his hand into the mutants bloody chest wound and dragged his hand across his own throat and slumped down near the door, the knife loosely in his hand, his breathing slowing to a barely audible whisper. Two tall dark skinned men entered the room wearing camouflaged flak armour and carrying modified lasguns and several fraggrenades.

"Three dead, one mutant, room clear" The first man through the door said, covering the room with his lasgun. He brushed some dust from his beard with the back of his hand. The second man came through the door limping slightly and favouring his right leg. He was horribly scarred and had a series of metal rings pierced through his nose, cheek and ears. "Acknowledged" the second man grunted. He shouldered his lasgun and retrieved a lho-stick. "Check the bodies for ammo and intel" he said as he lit the lho-stick and kept an eye on the corridor. The first man sighed and went for Gazlow and the mutant first nudging them in the side with his metal capped boot. Shub peeked breathlessly as the man set down his lasgun on the ground and kneeled next to the two corpses patting them down and retrieving various small trinkets.

Time slowed to a crawl as his prodigal mind kicked into action laying down a plan of action. His heart resounded deeply in his chest sounding off the course of action. He inhaled deeply._** THUD-thud **__One _Whisps of smoke drifted past him from the second trooper standing in the doorway as he silently rose from his spot near the door._** THUD-thud**_ _Two _In three fluent strides he padded towards the kneeling form of the other man. With his right hand he slashed the serrated knife across the man's throat _**THUD-thud **__Three_ With a quick tug he pulled the pin on one of the fragmentation grenades hanging from the man's belt. He whirled and sprinted for the door just as the second trooper turned to see where the gurgling noise was coming from._**THUD-thud**_ _Four _Shub exhaled explosively,sliding across the floor feet first he slashed the knife across the troopers unprotected right knee. Crying out in pain the man grabbed his knee and crumpled to the ground as he unexpectedly put his full weight on his already injured left leg._**THUD-thud**_ _Five _Shub got to his feet and launched himself to the side curling up protectively and covering his ears. _**THUD-thud **__Six _The world briefly ended as a tremendous flash of light lit up the room and hundreds of razorsharp fragments propelled by explosive force shredded the contents of the room.

Time lurched back into its regular gasped for air as he regained his senses. Sensations flooded in as he tried to shake the ringing sound in his ears. The smell of chemical explosives, smoke, scorched flesh. The crackle and pop of small fires consuming scraps of clothing. The sound of his own laboured breathing and the feeling of his heart thumping in his chest. He quickly checked his body for injuries and upon finding himself shaken but whole he got up and continued on his way deeper into the bowels of Gamma IX.


	5. Chapter 5 Service to the God Emperor

**Chapter 5 Service to the God Emperor**

The servitor walked the corridors of Gamma IX and the hooded man followed. Standing nearly 8 feet tall the amalgamation of flesh and steel dwarfed the man in its wake. Its previous identity long suppressed and forgotten it lived only to serve. And service in the case of Unit 44D-I76 consisted of delivering death at the business end of its various deadly grafts. Attached to its right elbow and powered by several cables was a bulky chainsaw fitted with industrial grade mineral teeth sharp enough to cut through armoured bulkheads. Its left arm terminated in a large metal claw fitted with a wrist-mounted pulse laser weapon capable of taking out targets at considerable distance.

Scores of wounds marred its pale flesh, the result of previous encounters with the mutants and insurgents that roamed the Manufactorums halls and passages. Mere nuisances for a Delta Grade combat servitor. With great methodical steps it ploughed through a makeshift barricade housing the flayed corpses of two enforcers. As it scanned the passage beyond a hail of autopistol fire erupted as four mutants rushed from a nearby room barking harsh war cries. Several of the small calibre rounds hit the servitor's necrotic flesh and impacted on the layer of sub dermal armour plating. 44D-I76 tracked the mutant in the lead and discharged a salvo of overcharged las shots leaving its target a smoking corpse riddled with holes. The three remaining mutants split up to flank the servitor. A creature sporting bonelike protrusions from its forearms rushed at its side and was promptly decapitated by the roaring chainsaw. The remaining two, a pair of humanoids covered from head to toe with small writhing tentacles, saw an opening and barrelled in swinging their meat cleavers. A well placed strike buried itself in the servitor's side and foul green liquid oozed from the wound. Without a moment's hesitation the servitor wrapped both limbs around the mutant and crushed it in a bear hug. The remaining mutant rushed past 44D-I76 and charged the hooded man who stood waiting with his arms folded across his chest. As the creature raised its cleaver for the killing strike the large reinforced steel claw of 44D-I76 enveloped its head and crushed it like an overripe anki-fruit.

"You're getting slow" The hooded man remarked as he brushed some spatters of blood and cranial fluid of his robe. The servitor turned its head towards the man and plucked the cleaver from the place where it was still stuck in its abdomen."Previous engagement was 12.4% faster than current operation standard Master." Its emotionless voice sounded from the metal grille where its mouth used to be. The old man sighed "Never mind"

The unlikely pair continued down the corridor moving at a steady pace and without facing any more resistance. "The boy will move towards Sentinel-tower and we must make sure we are waiting for him there." The man said to his companion."There is too much at stake here to allow him to escape" The hulking servitor continued its methodical advance without looking back "As you wish Master"

**1.5 Kilometres above Manufactorum Gamma IX at the pinnacle of Sentinel Tower**

The wind lashed the armoured exterior of the imposing structure towering literally over the huge Manufactorum complex. At this altitude Wagner's wounded ecosystem generated gale-force winds saturated with the many chemicals emitted as a waste-product. An unprotected man would find his flesh blistering and flayed within minutes here if he could somehow resist being swept away by the force of the wind. Sentinel tower bristled with arrays and antennae and several landing platforms extended from the central bulk of the tower. At the very summit of the tower an ugly structure strategically oversaw the entire area. Within its bulk, shielded by thick plates of plascrete, the command and control centre for the Manufactorum was bustling with frantic activity

"Enginseer, the power in sector 14 has gone down"

"Enginseer, the machine spirit of Forge Theta has passed beyond this realm

"Enginseer, hostile forces are nearing the hallway to elevators 2 and 3"

Two dozen servitors, hardwired into their workstations reported their findings to a central red-robed figure seated upon a mechanical throne. A web of cables was plugged directly into the figures body and two snakelike mechadendrites writhed around his bulky form manipulating cogitator engines and auspex-arrays.

Enginseer Pejan processed all the incoming data and directed tendrils of his awareness to where it was needed. Had his respiratory system not been replaced long ago he would most likely have had sweat running down his face and body. Sharp pulses of pain stung him through the biofeedback of his MIU as he intimately felt every explosion and malfunction within the complex. A burst transmission of Binary informed him of the status of his last remaining maniple of combat-servitors: 4 units operational, 2 inactive, 4 destroyed. Bolt ammunition at 12%.Powercells at 56%.When his Manufactorum had come under sudden internal attack he had reacted with commendable efficiency and speed sealing off passages and corridors with emergency bulkheads to prevent the attackers from moving through the complex unimpeded. As ranking Enginseer of a Manufactorum supposedly far from the theatre of war he did ,however, only have a small contingent of armed servitors at his disposal. Calculating the best strategy Pejan had placed these servitors in a series of hallways leading to the 3 elevators that granted access to the command centre at the top of Sentinel tower. The cybernetically enhanced warriors had reaped a bloody toll, cutting down wave after wave of mutants with their advanced bolt weapons and high-powered lasguns. Only when the traitor PDF had joined the fray had they been forced to give ground as the better equipped troopers made good use of cover and heavy weaponry to take out the servitors one at a time.

The four remaining servitors had positioned themselves behind a quickly erected barricade of debris and metal plating with their backs to the two main elevators they were charged to defend at all cost. Pejan had rigged the third elevator as a trap as several traitor PDF had discovered when they plummeted to their death. Opposing the servitors were nearly two dozen PDF troopers firing their lasguns from positions of cover. They scored several hits but the heavily armoured servitors were beyond the minor inconveniences of small arms fire. As one servitor blasted apart a PDF trooper with a well-aimed explosive bolt round it took a direct hit by a krakgrenade fired from a compact grenade launcher. The grenade exploded on the servitors left shoulder sending its arm flying off and caving in the left side of its head. The servitor staggered and fell over backwards right arm feebly clutching at the air. A ragged cheer went up among the attackers and they quickly advanced to take advantage of the defensive gap.

Fighting the searing biofeedback of his servitor's death Enginseer Pejan barked a series of instructions."Cut off power to the ventilation system near the elevators. Seal bulkheads 4.22, 4.24 and 4. venting of chemical furnace K7 to tertiary system and override safety protocol!"

As the PDF Troopers moved in for the kill most failed to notice the massive bulkheads closing off the corridor that provided entry to the hall where they battled the servitors for access to the elevators. Neither did they notice the ventilation ducts opening and the ominous sounds of valves and shutters locking in position. What did grab catch their attention was the billowing clouds of superheated smoke being vented forcibly into the hall. Those closest to the noxious grey smoke started coughing violently and falling to the ground retching and clawing at their eyes and throat. The others rushed to the exit only to find it blocked by massive bulkheads intended to withstand raging industrial fires. The servitors having respiratory systems vastly superior to their biological equivalents switched off their air-intake and methodically moved through the crowd of asphyxiating troopers and finished them off with well placed las shots. Within minutes the slaughter was over leaving 22 traitor PDF troopers dead or dying on the floor. The remaining three servitors moved back to their defensive positions, weapons raised scanning the surrounding area.

Back in the command centre Enginseer Pejan allowed the ghost of a smile to appear on his face as he set to the task of cleansing the system of toxic smoke and resetting his deadly traps.

**Manufactorum Gamma IX, a walkway overlooking assembly hall 9. 2.4 kilometres from Sentinel Tower**

As silent as a corpse and looking very much like one the 12 year old boy crept along the walkway. Every few meters he would stop and lay completely still to avoid being spotted by the large group of traitor PDF troopers that were mustering in the hall below. He noticed they wore the camouflaged cloaks of tribesmen from the wastelands but behaved very differently. Unlike the nomadic traders who struggled to survive in the outdoors in ragged, disorderly bands; these men moved in ordered groups with an obvious command structure. He spotted several men carrying heavy weaponry: a heavy stubber, several grenade launchers and even an autocannon.

Standing apart from the rest were a grizzled veteran PDF trooper and a mutant sporting a third arm from its chest. The mutant wielded a wicked knife in each of its three hands, making chopping motions to accentuate its point as it vigorously argued with the trooper.

_Subconsciously Shub took note of the various mannerisms of the troopers and apparent officers: the markings on their armour denoting rank, the way some of them trembled with barely contained narcotic induced frenzy, the mark of needles on arms and necks. He noted the whispers and furtive glances, the way the men handled their weapons and which troopers seemed weaker than others. All these things were burned into his mind and much more: Orders shouted, prayers offered to strange entities, and interspersed between all the words and gestures and sounds always a single name returned: The Dark Prince_

The gathered troopers hoisted their weapons and moved away leaving the assembly hall empty. From the safety of his perch Shub watched the men leave. If he wanted to make it out of this alive he would need to find some way out of the Manufactorum. Which was easier said than done with a structure the size of Gamma IX.

As an Adeptus Mechanicum Deimos IV class production facility the structure housed over 14.000 human beings when operating at full capacity. Its myriad hallways and corridors stretched for countless kilometres with some passages so old and forgotten that no living being had traversed them in decades. Its foreboding dark-grey facade rose several hundreds of meters from the ground bearing only stylized Aquila and cog symbols as decoration. Entire generations of men had lived and died within its industrious halls without ever seeing the light of day.

Navigating without the aid of a data slate or auspex was a recipe for disaster yet Shub moved from doorway to doorway like a spirit at home in the labyrinth of machines and forges. Intuitively he knew which turn to take and what parts to avoid. He was starting to get tired. With the rush of adrenaline out of his system the fatigue and hunger flooded in. In his current condition even the moulds that grew on the bottom of some of the pipes seemed appetizing but he knew that eating them would only lead to an agonizing and drawn out death. Stumbling along another corridor the boy found a small pool of water where steam from a damaged pipeline had condensed and trickled down into a dent in a metal plate. Despite his misgivings he bent down and drank the water. It tasted horribly like metal and dirt but it slaked the worst of his thirst. By all rights he should have been scared witless but for some reason he felt focussed and imbued with a strange sense of purpose. Invigorated by the water he continued on his way. Moving at a brisk pace he could not help but whisper again to himself that name _The Dark Prince_


	6. Chapter 6 Arise

Chapter 6 Arise!

Oh glorious joy! Most delicate of pleasures and sensations! Soon to be his again. Small droplets of sweat trickled down the side of Captain Tannhausers face as he gently opened the lid on the exquisitely crafted metal box in front of him. Every part of its exterior was painstakingly engraved with various scenes of debauchery and sin. The inside of the box was padded with the smoothest of red velvet. Within it lay a device of obvious xenos origin: A crystal globe was set in an elegant silver frame shaped like a spider with the globe forming the spider's abdomen. The legs of the silver 'spider' ended in needle points. Eight small but elegant red gems decorated the frame forming the 'eyes'. Within the globe swirled the object of Tannhausers undivided attention. A smooth luscious, purple liquid that sparkled when the light hit it at the right angle. The captain licked his lips as he rolled up the sleeve on his uniform to expose the veins on his right arm.

'_Desire' how wonderful a substance it was. Ever since its introduction among the workers and Planetary Defence Force on Wagner Secundus its use had skyrocketed. When injected the narcotic offered visions of the users wildest dreams and desires in amazingly realistic detail. For those who spent their lives working for the Imperium it offered a moments respite from endless toil and production and a means to get in touch with their darkest wishes and urges. With the widespread use of Desire came an increase in violent crime, sexual assault, and intoxicant-related deaths. It had been quickly outlawed by Imperial law resulting in a shift from easily accessible drug to a highly elitist narcotic reserved for those with power and influence. As the addicted workers went through withdrawal they became increasingly desperate. Those in power that still had access languished in their mad desires and slid increasingly towards corruption._

Having locked the door to his private chambers Captain Tannhauser sat down on the edge of his bed and gently placed the arachnid construction on his bared arm. As soon as the apparatus touched his flesh the eight 'leg-needles' slid gently into his skin causing bright ruby droplets of blood to well up. An unseen mechanism pumped the thick purple liquid into his bloodstream and his eyes glazed over. His breathing quickened as the elaborate mix of exotic components interacted with his body. He gasped as the first visions revealed themselves.

_The stench of promethium permeated his nostrils as Commander Tannhauser surveyed the battlefield from the turret of his Leman Russ Battle tank. The heavy chugging sound of the two sponson-mounted heavy bolters was followed by a series of explosion as the projectiles detonated in the ranks of greenskins massing in the distance. "Company ADVANCE! Kill the xenos in the name of the God-Emperor!" He shouted as he gestured forward with his intricately decorated Mars-crafted power sword. The rays of the sun bathed him a golden light and reflected off the many medals decorating him for valour and duty. Around him the men of the 1__st__ Wagner Armoured Company chanted his name as they advanced on the Orks, determined to add yet another victory to their company's impressive tally._

The spiderlike constructed nestled closer against the Captain's arm, sharp limbs further impaling his flesh. Thin metal proboscis extended from its 'head' and squirmed their way across his arm, over his chest and towards his head. With a quick thrusting movement the thin metal cables entered his nostrils causing a small trickle of blood to emerge and stain his uniform.

_The scene shifted. Commander Tanhauser waved at the roaring crowd gathered on Ultima Plaza, the centre of Wagner Prime's capital city. An honour guard of six towering Astartes flanked him, resplendent in their purple and black power armour. They held golden swords aloft in a salute to him: the greatest military commander ever to come from this sector. "They adore you my Lord" His aide said to him, almost shouting to make herself heard over the din of the cheering crowd. Her bright green eyes gleamed with pride and love as she laid her hand on his shoulder. Long black hair framed her hauntingly beautiful face. She moved closer to him, her voice lowering. "Come inside my Prince, there is ...entertainment befitting one of your rank waiting for you" He allowed himself to be guided inside the palace where he could already hear the sound of music and laughter._

Captain Tannhauser lay on his back on his small bed. Sweat running from his body and mingling with the bloodstains already there. Several tubes extended from the spider construct now firmly attached to his arm and were latched to his chest and abdomen pumping liquids in and out of the old man's body. An unnatural cold permeated the room leaving a coating of frost on the wall and floors. The apparatus' eyes sparkled with energy.

_Commander Tannhauser, no Lord Tannhauser stood at the head of a grand banquet. His mighty frame was draped only in a silken loincloth affording his mesmerized audience a glorious view of his tanned and oiled musculature. A great host of physically perfect men and women sat around the table, scantily clad and engaged in whispered conversation and caresses. Tannhauser beamed with pride and fondness as the great double doors of the feast hall opened to allow a procession of six servants to carry in a great gilded platter covered with a silver cloche. A central spot on the table had been cleared for the servants to gently lower the platter. In the background a choir of weeping angels sang an oddly atonal hymn. Tannhauser let his gaze go around those assembled in his honour and feasted his eyes on every detail of their delectable presence: the nubile bodies writhing with barely suppressed desire, the hungry looks. Here a young man wetted his lips as he eyed the silver cloche, there an androgynous creature caressed a curved blade. _

_Tannhauser felt a sense of foreboding as the hairs on his neck stood up and a shiver went down his spine. He shook his head and grabbed his crystal glass to drink away his discomfort. _

_As he raised the glass to his lips he noticed the thickness of the crimson liquid which gave of an overpowering coppery scent. _

_A pair of servants decorated as part human, part crab creatures lifted the cloche with a theatrical gesture. Tannhauser dropped his glass as he saw what was revealed._

_Lord Tannhauser screamed._

Captain Tannhauser screamed and all who dwelled within the halls of Manufactorum Gamma IX screamed with him. Reality rippled and warped around the tortured body of the old PDF officer as the silver spider construct expanded and contracted, growing an impossible number of extra limbs and eyes. Pits of darkness emerged where his eyes had been and his flesh bulged unnaturally as his muscles seemed to seek escape from within his mortal frame. His voice was broken but still wailing as wickedly sharp horns emerged from his warping skull. For hundreds of meters around glass shattered and small objects ignited as the tortured screaming continued. With a sickening tearing sound the creature that was once Tannhauser, elongated and expanded sending skin and blood flying outward. Then all was quiet except for the sound of soft laughter as the demon stretched its back and patted the silver spider that scuttled across its arm.


	7. Chapter 7 paid in full

Chapter 7 Paid in full

The ship was old and black as the darkest night. It lay silently on the far side of Wagner Secundus single moon shielding it from detection. Its enormous engines lay quiet and not a single flare of light betrayed its presence. Its four kilometre long, elongated hull was reminiscent of a predator waiting in ambush for its prey. Unlike most warships it did not sport markings or symbols to denote its affiliation. Inside its cavernous halls and walkways there were no milling masses of crewmen toiling at their stations nor were their cargo holds filled with merchants' wares or soldiers geared for war. A solemn, intimidating silence dominated instead of the hissing and creaking of engines and valves. Yet not all was empty in the ancient ship.

A towering structure decorated with gothic spires and crenulated edges sat in the centre of the ship offering a commanding view of the turrets and arrays positioned on the main deck. Towering statues of saints long forgotten lined the bridge situated at the very apex. Within, a white marble floor led to a grand set of doors standing tall and wide enough to let a Leman Russ Battle tank pass through. The door itself was crafted from a rare and exotic alloy that shimmered and reflected the low lighting and depicted the Emperor of mankind wreathed in flame in full armour wielding a large sword. Beyond the door lay a large round chamber spacious enough to house hundreds of men. Censers dangled from adamantine chains swaying ever so gently in the artificial gravity, emitting fragrant clouds of smoke. In the centre of the room a man was seated on mechanical throne hovering just above the floor. A multitude of cables connected the man to the apparatus feeding and extracting fluids from his ruined body. Of his mortal flesh only his head and chest remained and even there the hand of the Adeptus Mechanicum could be seen in an exquisitely crafted bionic eye and the many diagnostic devices attached to his torso. No hair remained to frame a wizened face that spoke of centuries of experience. Piercing grey eyes were currently fixed on the ground. His right arm was a Mechanicum crafted replacement forged from what seemed to be a single piece of dark grey iron. His left arm was decidedly non-human: sacrificing standard anatomy for an array of probes, tools, and weapon mounts. The stumps of his legs interfaced directly with the mechanical throne connected by a series of neural interfaces and cables. A flock of five small half-mechanical winged cherubs flitted about the man whispering in his ears and humming prayers. A Skull in front of a stylized letter I with three crossbars depicted on the mechanical throne denoted the man's allegiance and unquestionable authority.

An almost undetectable hum and vibration caused the man to straighten in his throne and wave away the attending cherubs. In a semi circle around him various holographic images appeared projected by apparatus hidden in the chambers vaulted ceiling. Starting with a larger than life symbol of the inquisitorial rosette they were accompanied by a complicated series of smaller symbols circling the rosette. The symbols blinked in and out of view accompanied by ghostly voices singing a wordless choral piece. Each combination of icons and music functioned as a unique identifying code for a sender somewhere else in the galaxy. Only several dozen men and women in the Empire were aware of the holographic communication system and only a handful were actually authorized to use it. After a rigorous series of checks and double-checks to assure authentication, the Inquisitorial symbols faded to be replaced by life-sized holographic representations of their owners. Seven projections of men and women studied each other and the man in the throne in silence before one of them raised his voice.

"All praise the Emperor and his undying Empire." The man intoned with a gravelly voice. His facial features were hidden by a voluminous hooded robe although the upper part of golden power armour could be seen. "My peers, we are gathered to address the escalating situation in the Wagner system." "As you are aware, the forces of the arch-enemy are in motion and threatening to destabilize the Wagnerian region of space." "What interest is this minor system to us Lord Terran?" a female voice interjected, oozing with contempt. A tall regal woman with fiery red hair and classical patrician features made a theatrical gesture. "We waste the Ordos resources to discuss minor incursions; sedition and rebellion the likes of which occur daily in hundreds of systems throughout his majesties Empire." A chorus of muttering arose from the other projections some expressing their displeasure or agreement. "Lady Segara, although everything that transpires against the Emperors will should warrant our attention I understand the Ordo Xenos reservations against the resources requisitioned for this situation. Allow me to explain the necessity of this gathering of august men and women." The man called Lord Terran paused for a moment seemingly to listen to some voice speaking outside the view offered by the holographic projection. "Lords and ladies, centuries ago the High Lords of Terra sanctioned a project of singular importance to mankind. It was an endeavour to further refine the process of genetic enhancement utilized in the creation of the Astartes legions. Over a period of decades suitable subjects were requisitioned and good progress was made in selecting the most promising genetic lines. Unfortunately the projects leader and chief Magos Biologis, Patrox was accused and convicted of several forms of heresy. In the name of our most holy Emperor he and his staff of several thousand were sentenced to death and executed fifteen years ago. Patrox did not go down easily however. In the battle to deliver the Throne's justice hundreds of Arbiter and inquisition forces lost their lives. In the chaos of battle several of the programs Apex subjects were unaccounted for."

A strikingly handsome man with golden locks and fair blue eyes cleared his throat:"Lord Terran, my thanks for your explanation but all here are aware of the details of the Patrox Heresy." The man brushed a strand of hair from his forehead, a strikingly casual gesture."What we are not aware of is the need to convene with some of the most venerated representatives of our respective orders" Voices were heard agreeing on the matter, some of them angry. The Lord Terran raised his hand to quiet them."I give the word to Lord Barat Ruil of the Ordo Machinum"

The man ensconced in his mechanical throne nodded in acknowledgement to the Lord Terran and turned to look at each of the projected Inquisitor Lords."Inquisitorial order Alpha-2456-GX-40, an order directly from the High Lords of Terra." Lord Ruil paused for the importance of this to sink in."In the aftermath of the Patrox Heresy the council ordered the remaining Apex subjects to be found and developed to further the interests of the council. Five subjects were tracked down: One had gathered a band of pirates and was raiding the trade routes near Angevinn and has since been reclaimed. A second had fallen to corruption and mutation requiring termination with extreme prejudice. A third subject is currently imprisoned on Mars under strict supervision and training by the Ordo Hereticus and Machinum. A fourth subject was lost during warp travel aboard one of the black ships travelling to Terra. The fifth and last subject was inserted in the Wagner System in a controlled conditioning experiment. You must realize: each of these subjects represents an investment of astronomical proportions in Imperial assets. It is the will of the High Council that they are developed to their full potential. The movements of the Arch-enemy in the Wagner system are now threatening this project."" It is imperative that we secure the Wagnerian subject before we lose control of the system to the Arch-enemy. Emperor knows what the ruinous powers could accomplish if they managed to get their hands on this project." Ruil gestured and a dazzlingly intricate hologram appeared above his head depicting a golden throne surrounded by a swarm of sigils and symbols. A collective whisper indicated the awe of those gathered."Please verify this Imperial Authentication Symbol and acknowledge when your cogitators have completed the task." Lord Ruil waited patiently in his throne as one by one the gathered holograms indicated authentication by means of a flashing azure Aquila symbol.

"In the name of he who sits on the Golden Throne I invoke Inquisitorial prerogative and summon the aid of the inquisitors and their Ordos gathered here." The Inquisitors gathered nodded and acknowledged compliance by means of a series of coded symbols attached to their holographic projections. One by one they shimmered and disappeared as they received a burst transmission of highly encoded data.

"The Emperor protects" Ruil whispered as he remained alone in the empty chamber.

Lazlo kicked the bearded man in the face and fired three quick shots into his chest as the worker dropped his mallet and stumbled backwards clawing at his broken nose. With a joyous roar he jumped over the twitching corpse, savouring the smell of burnt flesh and freshly spilt blood. Around him his fellow cultists ripped into the Manfucatorum workers with reckless ferocity. Poorly armed men were being cut down all around him by his fellow PDF and their mutant allies. The halls and corridors resounded with screams of pain and desperate pleas for mercy.

The attack had been thoroughly planned and trained for months in advance. Being in service to the dark gods did not mean mindlessly hurling oneself at the opponent. Weapons had been stockpiled and supplies had been subtly rerouted to provide the resources needed for the Wagner rebellion. Over the last decade the cult had managed to subvert high ranking officers in most regiments and had established an effective secret organisation dedicated to both indulging in excess and promoting its members interests. Opponents of the cult had been either reassigned to unfavourable postings or occasionally downright murdered. While the majority of the recruits were unaware of the cult's dark origins most officers of rank were well aware of the heretical nature of their brotherhood. Troopers were indoctrinated and supplied with gradually increasing doses of combat narcotics and hallucinogenic substances until they were caught in a spiral of increasing debauchery and excess.

"Area secure sir" a trooper said as he slapped another power cell in his lasgun. The man was clad in the same camouflaged gear as Lazlo and grinned as he surveyed the carnage. "The men have killed those who resisted and are rounding up the rest even as we speak" "Once we control the command centre we can resume production within several hours" Lazlo slapped the trooper on the back."Keep focussed on the objectives, there will be more than enough time for pleasure later." The trooper marched off with his squad and headed further into the tunnels. Lazlo checked his lasgun then motioned the rest of his squad towards the far end of the hallway."What the frak is that?" he swore as two figures, one man-sized and one much larger emerged from a shadowy alcove. They appeared to be a servitor and some sort of robed scribe. Three of his men were already jogging forward when Lazlo noticed the barrels protruding from the servitors arm. He only had a second before the world around him erupted in a storm of laser fire and screaming.

The man and his servitor walked through the hallway at a brisk pace taking care not to slip on the pools of blood or the various limbs scattered around. The squad of heretics had been frantic but woefully unprepared to deal with a combat servitor and a veteran of six decades of fighting. According to their Data slate they should be nearing the elevators leading to the Command Centre. The one place where they should be able to complete their objective. All that stood in their way was a force of several hundred heretics backed by a veritable tide of mutants and the occasional mob of violent Manufactorum workers.

Shub snuck a quick glance around the corner of the stack of crates he was hiding behind. The route ahead was blocked by a group of five mutants huddling together around a corpse. So far they had been too absorbed in their meal to notice him but it was just a matter of time before they would be on the hunt again. Nervously he clutched the Wagner class Mark VII lasgun he had pilfered off a dead PDF trooper. Even though he could name every single mechanical part in the gun and the corresponding litany to please the resident machine spirit ( Manufactorum Gamma IX produced millions of them annually) he had never actually fired one before. Avoiding the gruesome creatures would have been the best option but unfortunately they blocked access to a room Shub knew contained food and water. He desperately needed to regain his strength after hours of exertion and stress. He was already feeling light headed and his muscles were cramping.

The smallest of the pack of mutants, a hunchbacked creature that moved about on clawed hands and feet raised its bloody face and sniffed the air."More prey near brothers" It hissed as it sniffed the air and turned towards Shubs hiding place. "Frak it" Shub said and stepped out from behind the crates. He did not have the time or energy to run. Deep within him a part of his mind had already calculated the time he had left before succumbing to the effects of dehydration and fatigue. It was now or never. With some effort he raised the lasgun to his shoulder, the movement strangely familiar, and took aim. The mutants had by now abandoned the gutted remains of the Factorum worker and were advancing on the boy in an ungainly but deceptively fast loping gait. He flicked the switch to allow for a higher fire rate, released the breath he was holding and pressed the trigger. A hail of searing laser bolts crossed the intervening distance, each hitting an eye or neck or other vulnerable spot and flash-boiling the surface tissue followed by cauterization as the extremely high temperature seared flesh and bone. Leading the barrel he switched targets without blinking and caught them midstride. Unarmoured and with no protection whatsoever the mutants fell to the floor hissing and screaming. Shub kept pulling the trigger even after the charge pack had run out, a low chime indicating the machine spirits displeasure at the uncouth treatment. With his mouth ajar he gazed in disbelief at the carnage he had wrought.

"It feels like an extension of your own body does it not?" The low voice startled Shub and he whirled around pointing his gun at the speaker. The robed man held his hands out in front of him palms facing outward to signal his intentions. The hulking blood-stained servitor standing behind the man did little to calm Shubs anxiety."You have a natural talent for marksmanship young man" Despite the awkward situation Shub felt some pride at the compliment. He scanned the man for any sign or detail that would provide him more information. The man's robe was of a nondescript gray fabric, sturdy but obviously worn from use. A voluminous hood covered most of his head revealing only a square chin, thin lips framing a smile and the twinkling of eyes. Shub noted the bulge of the robe revealing the armour underneath and the hilt of some type of bladed weapon hanging from a belt. He subconsciously noted the absence of any visible mutations or PDF markings categorizing him lower on a threat scale.

"You are hungry and tired young man" the man said as he pulled back the hood revealing a scarred and pitted face."You need not fear me or my companion" he made a gesture at the servitor standing menacingly behind him. The man turned and walked towards the storage room."Like you, we are loyal servants of the God-Emperor in a difficult situation." The door opened to reveal boxes of Manufactorum rations and canisters of drinking water. Keeping an eye on the servitor Shub dashed for the room and started ripping open a canister. He felt a sense of immense relief as the lukewarm water poured down his throat revitalizing his strained metabolism."Take care to eat only a small amount or your stomach will have great difficulty handling it" The man warned Shub. Taking the advice to heart he opened a packet and took a few bites of the bland grey paste, carefully chewing before swallowing."My name is Shub, who are you? And what are you doing with that machine-man?" He paused to take another bite."Where did you get all those weapons and how come you haven't been killed by those soldiers?" The man chuckled "Easy now, one thing at a time: My name is Franciscus, Brother Franciscus Alfieri to be exact. I serve the God-Emperor in various ways." Franciscus studied the servitor for a moment."This servitor is just one of the God-Emperors tools, it has served me well." He turned back to Shub again and removed the weapon from his belt and swung it into full view. His hand gripped a thick hilt protected by a sturdy, spiked hand guard. From there a rectangular metal compartment decorated with silver scripture merged into a hooked cross guard from which a chain-blade nearly a metre long emerged."This Shub is a chain sword, the God-Emperors gift to enlighten the wayward, and in time you will come to know it as you know your own limbs." Shub gazed in awe at the deadly weapon taking in every detail: the flowing letters in High Gothic, the viciously hooked teeth, the markings and scratches, the dark red stains. "The reason I have not been killed by the heretics is because I killed them before they could do so." Franciscus thumbed the activation rune on his weapon causing the teeth to spin so fast they could no longer be tracked by the naked eye. The sword produced an angry buzzing sound. He swung the weapon in a lazy figure eight. "Once you are done eating and drinking you will accompany me Shub" Franciscus said switching off the weapon again and hanging it from his belt."There are too many enemies in this Factorum, it is only a matter of time before they find us and corner us." He retrieved a data slate from within his robes and studied the screen."There should be a landing platform and several shuttles at the top of the command centre. From there we should be able to make it to a safer place." He looked at Shub with a friendly smile and extended his hand to help him up. The boy looked at Franciscus trying to gauge his sincerity. The man was obviously armed and dangerous yet his friendly demeanour and easy smile were comforting."You can count on me Franciscus" Shub said as he accepted the extended hand allowing him to be pulled up. "Now where do I get one of those fancy swords?"


	8. Chapter 8 By the Throne

Chapter 8

All across Wagner Secundus scenes similar to those in Gamma Quadrant played out. Cults among the Planetary Defence Force, long hidden in the shadows erupted in open rebellion slaughtering thousands of innocents. In the Alpha quadrant a series of meltabombs detonated collapsing the vast complex housing the planetary seat of Imperial power. Tens of thousands of administratum clerks and scribes died crushed by rubble or slowly suffocating. In only a few cycles, violence erupted and shattered the Imperium's control over the planet.

A ragged fleet of ships emerged from the warp broadcasting maddening noise and static on all vox-channels. Numbering over two dozen ships of vastly different size and shape the fleet shared a common crew of homicidal pirates intent on plunder and mayhem. Despite a heroic effort Wagner Secundus token fleet of system defence ships quickly fell to the agile raiders and their boarding crews. The crewmen fought valiantly in defence of their ships but were slaughtered in brutal close quarter fighting.

Acrid smoke filled the air accompanied by the distinctive smell of burning flesh. The sky seemed to weep tears of ash and brimstone at the desecration of Wagner Secundus. A large band of cultists clad in PDF uniforms rested for a moment in the ruined streets. Most had daubed their breastplates with vile runes and several sported trophies taken from victims. A group of trembling civilians huddled close together, held at gunpoint. An overweight officer with pale skin and small brown eyes set in a porcine face walked past the captives at a leisurely pace. Grinning broadly he sharpened a large curved knife as he inspected the catch."A fine herd men, a fine herd indeed." His voice was thick and sibilant with saliva. "I believe we have earned some recreation for our efforts, get them inside!" The cultists chuckled in anticipation as they herded their captives towards a large warehouse soliciting cries of fear and desperation. A woman, eyes circled grey with exhaustion broke and ran cutting the soles of her bare feet on the rubble. One of the heretics raised his lasgun but the fat officer stopped him."Wait" he said with a smug look. The woman looked over her shoulder but kept running as fast as she could, her laboured breathing interspersed with ragged sobs. She was halfway across the street when a wailing sound shattered the air. A strange creature all sinewy limbs and sickening colour scuttled sideways from behind a building its long prehensile tongue flicking out and hitting the woman in the neck as if the creature wanted to taste the desperation. She stumbled and fell to the ground as her muscles suddenly ceased functioning. The horrid creature moved to stand over her protectively and commenced with gently peeling away skin and flesh with a pair of razor-sharp claws. Although she was unable to use her muscles to flee or scream her eyes showed the agony she endured. After enjoying the spectacle for a moment the heretics ushered the captives towards the warehouse.

The warp trembled with anticipation as more and more people died gruesome deaths. In some places the veil was stretched so thin that lithe androgynous creatures managed to pass between worlds to unleash madness on the material realm. Everywhere on Wagner Secundus the daemons stalked and fed on the sensations of terror and pain. Within the bowels of Manufactorum Gamma IX the creature that was once Tannhauser stalked and fed as well. Its sleek predatory form stalked the hallways of the Manufactorum sampling delights left and right as it left a trail of mutilated corpses in its wake. Some men stood their ground and fought it, some fled for their lives, some even pleaded but all died under the ministrations of its claws and fangs.

Five large men charged from a chamber, armed with large powered tools designed to cut metal and rock. One man fired a stub pistol at the Daemon as his compatriots moved to attack from different angles. It laughed out loud as the low calibre solid rounds ricocheted off its unnatural skin. With its left claw it grabbed one of the rushing attackers by the head and squeezed. A sickening crunching sound and the daemon dropped the lifeless man, blood and brain matter dripping from its claws. Its right claw blazed with warp fire and with a hurling motion a bolt of blazing warp-energy rushed through the air catching the man with the stub pistol on his arm. He screamed in agony as the pistol melted into slag and the flesh sloughed off his arm by the intense heat. The remaining three circled the daemon warily, taking turns to lunge at the creature with a powered pick or a diamond-tipped drill. A diagonal strike was easily parried by the daemon and it stepped forward to disembowel its assailant. The two men broke and ran but with a few swift strides the daemon was upon them and tore the limbs from their body. It paused a moment to gaze at the carnage it had wrought then moved on.

Franciscus had a distracted look as he softly whispered to himself leaving Shub to wonder about his companions' sanity. The man focussed again and turned to the boy."The situation is escalating, there are assets in transit but we need to get to the landing pads on the command tower if we want to stand a good chance of being extracted." Shub nodded having understood only a part of what the man said. He checked his lasgun again; he had managed to find a few more charge packs along the way, and made sure it was set for rapid fire. The twelve year old looked like a ganger from some underhive, filthy with sweat and grime, haggard looking but with a gleam of deadly intent in his eyes. He was quickly becoming used to the adrenaline and constant danger. It felt...Natural to the boy. As if in conflict he could express his true self. A series of terrifying shrieks up ahead shook him out of his reverie. Franciscus ushered the boy forward keeping him near the protective bulk of the combat servitor and drew his chainsword."Stay near the servitor, it will keep you safe. Understood?" "Understood, both the boy and servitor echoed" For a religious man he knew how to handle a weapon Shub thought as he followed Fransiscus through the tunnels and rooms of the Manufactorum. The oddly matched trio proceeded carefully passing several scenes of battle. Shub took in the bodies and atrocities and shuddered at the thought of a similar fate befalling him. The very air seemed suffused with the stench of death and the coppery smell of blood made breathing an unpleasant business. "Who is coming to help us Franciscus?" Shub whispered as they moved stealthily through a huge hall filled with debris and wrecked crates. The bearded priest looked over his shoulder at the boy with a reassuring smile."The Emperor protects young man" Not feeling reassured at all by this rather vague answer Shub continued:"But the Emperor is far away on Terra, how can he protect us here?" "Trust in the Emperor for he is your Shield, Fight for the Emperor for he is your salvation, Die for the Emperor for he is the one true God" the priest recited solemnly."It is one of the 177 litanies of Faith" "Even though some see them as mere prayers they can and should be taken as literal guidelines. There is no worthier cause then to die serving the master of mankind" Shub nodded. Instinctively he understood Franciscus' deep devotion and the strength he found in it. Rationally however he still did not understand how a distant Emperor could help them here on Wagner Secundus. "We are within 1 hundred metres of grid location 49727.84 Master" The servitor droned suddenly."Good now all we need to do is take the elevator to the control centre and we should be fine." Franciscus beamed to Shub. They moved on taking care to stay in cover as much as possible. The area in front of the elevators looked as if a fierce battle had been fought. Piles of dead cultists and butchered servitors lay spread around the area and nearly every part of the walls and ceiling was damaged by the impact of weapons. Checking for any surviving cultists they made their way to the nearest elevator. Franciscus pressed a combination of runes and the doors closed. Moments later the enclosed cabin shuddered and started the long journey to the upper areas of the Manufactorum.

With a shrieking sound followed by the sudden rush of displaced air three enormous armoured warriors appeared in the middle of the warehouse. The figures towered over the stunned cultists in their dull black power armour, the tallest cultist barely reaching to their breastplates. The nearest chaos worshipper had only a moment to gawk in complete surprise before a giant warrior with chains across his breastplate and a tabard cut him in two diagonally with a huge ornate power sword. Blood sprayed in a great arc splattering the Astartes and the surrounding heretics. One of the other warriors lifted an enormous heavy bolter decorated with what appeared to be fangs and pieces of animal pelt. The right pauldron of his otherwise black and silver power armour showed a snarling predator depicted on a yellow and blue background. With a deep booming sound the massive weapon fired a hail of mass-reactive shells into the ranks of the cultists reducing dozens of them to chunks of bloody meat and red mist. The remaining cultists scattered for cover and started returning fire with their auto guns. The three Astartes sprang into motion moving in a smooth defensive pattern, each covering the others blind spots. As the warrior with the Heavy Bolter continued laying down a devastating hail of fire, the third Astartes, bearing a blue pauldron with the Ultramarine Chapter Symbol, fired methodical, well aimed shots with his bolt gun, each shot exploding in a storm of razor sharp fragments shredding anyone unlucky enough to be in the vicinity. The overweight officer screamed profanities from behind the relative safety of a stack of iron crate and spurred his troops into a semblance of a counterattack. Dozens of rounds of solid shot ammo scored hits but were deflected harmlessly by the Marines thick ceramite armour. Within moments all that remained of the traitor PDF were corpses and body parts strewn around the warehouse. Many of the captive civilians had been killed or injured in the fire fight filling the warehouses with cries of agony and the stink of fear. The three Astartes paid the crying and pleading civilians no attention at all and spent a few moments in silent communication, their voxchannels clicking with activity before heading off at a trot.

Three squads of elite soldiers clad in black carapace armour moved from the rear ramp of a shuttle with well organised routine, their special issue hell guns sweeping to cover any possible enemies. The soldiers wore helmets fully obscuring their faces with dull red lenses and a bulky respirator. Much of their armour was covered with faintly inscribed silver texts and symbols of warding and each bore multiple purity seals inscribed with litanies praising the Emperor. In record time they spread out and secured the dusty square where the heavily armed imperial transport had landed. Several troopers started deploying advanced sentry turrets monitored by a red robed techpriest with ominous skull symbols decorating his armoured bulk. The troopers present snapped to attention as an imposing man walked down the ramp of the transport. Clad in bulky powered armour with elaborate golden and silver lining none could question his authority as he carried in his right hand a maul crackling with barely contained energy and sporting a prominent Inquisitorial Rosette. His face was old and scarred and what little hair he had left clung to the sides of his skull in disordered patches. His eyes however were a steel-grey and brooked no dissent or disobedience as they surveyed the area. One of the troopers made the Aquila sign and reported:"The perimeter is secured Lord Inquisitor, our forces are entering the theatre of operations as planned and are encountering light, unorganized resistance." The Inquisitor nodded "Proceed according to plan Captain, engage the enemy forces. Search and destroy protocol. Remember you are to draw their attention, not engage in a full-scale confrontation" The trooper saluted and quickly returned to his tasks.

**35 kilometres above Wagner Secundus, Geosynchronous orbit, bridge of the pirate flagship "Desecrator"**

Arch-Sultan Khalu-Ghari of the most exalted scourge of the unbelievers was not having a good day. His immense bulk was lodged in his command throne offering a commanding view of the bridge of the flagship of his pirate fleet. The ship itself was relatively young having been built only three centuries ago before being 'liberated' by Khalu-Ghari and his band of pirates. It was originally a lightly armed destroyer destined to patrol relatively quiet regions of space. The Arch-Sultan had made some modifications however. The ridiculous gothic ornamentation and statuary dedicated to the False Emperor had been removed and replaced with more aesthetically pleasing curves and spines. The ships voxsystem had been upgraded and connected to a central chamber where each day a fresh batch of captives were 'motivated' to produce the most glorious hymns to Slaanesh. The same tortured screams were also broadcast on all channels using a hideously overpowered, warp-fuelled voxcasting system. Great sections of the kilometre long ship had been repurposed to house powerful, overcharged lance weapons. The weapons were prone to overheat and suffered from horrid casualty rates amongst the gun crews but they packed a punch totally unexpected for a ship of the Desecrators size. Streams of sweat trickled down the obese Arch-Sultans face and flabby chest as his bridge crew shouted incoming reports from the planet's surface."Great Khalu-Ghari, the 14th enlightened Infantry reports enemy contact in the outskirts of Gamma Quadrant, moving to engage" a woman covered in tattoos and piercings reported. "Contact lost with squads 4, 9, and 12 of the 7th Enlightened Infantry" a nearly skeletal servitor droned. How could this be? The Arch-Sultan reviewed the hololithic display of Wagner Secundus surface. The majority of the planets PDF forces had sworn allegiance to Slaanesh effectively reducing the loyalist forces to only a handful of Arbites and security personnel. Yet for some reason the forces of chaos were being attacked in multiple locations and taking considerable losses."Helmsman move the ship closer to the planet and start a scan at maximum power" The Arch-Sultan rumbled, his bloodshot eyes squinting at the display of tactical data. A hunchbacked mutant moved along the workstations administering lashes with a cruelly barbed whip. The crew shrieked in delight or pain, it was hard to tell, and enacted the commands necessary to carry out the Arch-Sultans orders. The Desecrators engines flared and it moved closer to the planet, sensor arrays flaring with energy as it initiated a full power scan. Claxons sounded and warning messages suddenly blurted from dozens of terminals. Khalu-Ghari glanced around his deck in increasing anger and annoyance."What in the frekkin name of the four powers is going on? Report! You pathetic excuses for bags of flesh or I will personally feed your souls to the Dark Prince!" The crewman in charge of the servitors manning the sensor banks reported:"Exalted one, our sensors report multiple contacts inbound from the dark side of Wagner Secundus. Signature unclear as of yet but we are scanning the databanks to find a match. Distance 29.000 kilometres and closing." Khalu-Ghari's blood drained from his face. At that range they were nearly within effective range of most capital weapons."Alert the fleet, move the raiders in a defensive pattern and divert power to our forward lance batteries." All around the raider-captain crew sprang into motion, orders and firing solutions being sent to gun crews and the other pirate captains in the fleet. Six smaller but more agile raider vessels formed a tight defensive perimeter in front of the Desecrator, their sleek forms screaming through the void towards their enemy. "Exalted one, we have identified the contacts as 3 Falchion-class Frigates of unknown lineage and the Mars-class Battle cruiser 'Spear of Retribution' a servitor spoke with a monotonous voice adding technical details as its cogitators communicated with the Desecrators machine spirit."A Mars class Battle cruiser..." Khalu-Ghari whispered in dread. The bridge trembled slightly as if the ship itself realized the danger it was in. "All ships disperse formation! Helmsman fire lateral thrusters! Reroute all power from weapons to thrusters and void shields! Fire decoy torped..." The Arch-Sultan and commander of the pirate fleet never got the chance to finish his sentence. Within the five kilometres long hull of the Spear of Retribution a crew of hundreds of ratings and servitors finished the firing sequence of the massive nova cannon that spanned nearly a kilometre in length. Arcane accelerator coils powered and propelled a massive warhead to near light speed. A miniature sun blossomed into existence mere hundreds of kilometres off the Desecrators prow instantly vaporizing the ship into its constituent atoms. The escorting ships briefly flickered with straining void shields before being melted to formless blobs of metal and debris.

On the Spear of Retributions cathedral like bridge a group of senior officers stood at a respectable distance from their superior who was talking to a small blonde woman clad in a stunning red gown. Her eyes shone with both intelligence and amusement as she nodded politely at the navy officer more than twice her age who looked faintly like a dog eager to please his mistress."I am pleased Lord-Captain Mossberg with your efficiency in dispatching these raiders" she said her voice high and clear and very much in contrast with the grim surroundings. The Lord Captain positively beamed with the compliment, his hands folded behind his back and his stance nothing but noble and representative of a proud lineage of officers."I aim to serve my lady and her noble office in any manner required" Mossberg turned to his coterie of officers: "An extra ration of amasec for the Master of Cannons" The woman smiled politely."Prepare a shuttle for planet fall Lord-Captain, we should soon receive the exact coordinates." She strode across the bridge towards the soaring viewports offering an unobstructed view of the void outside. Hundreds of pieces of debris could still be seen as they bled heat and light into space, the shattered remnants of the pirate fleet. She absentmindedly traced a fingernail across her ring, a golden skull backed by a large ruby. "This had better not be a waste of my time" she muttered.


	9. Chapter 9 The Emperor Protects

Chapter 9 The Emperor Protects

The elevator shuddered to a halt, the three occupants tired but ready for anything: A towering, heavily armed servitor, a robed priest of the ecclesiarchy, and a young boy lugging around a lasgun. The reinforced plassteel doors slid open to reveal a scene from hell. The large control and command centre was littered with corpses, most of them in various states of dismemberment. Some people had been nailed to the wall with sharp pieces of metal and symbols dedicated to the ruinous powers were daubed on the walls in fresh blood. Flashes of lightning from the raging storm outside lit up the room through a large gothic, glass-in-lead viewport. Rows upon rows of cogitatorbanks and data terminals were bathed in shadow and the faint illumination of red emergency lights. Franciscus moved out of the elevator, his chainsword raised in a defensive posture, and carefully scanned the surroundings. A palpable air of death and suffering suffused the room. "The passage to the landing pads should be at the far end of this room, follow me and whatever you do: do not touch **anything** in here" Franciscus cautioned Shub as he picked his way past the pools of congealing blood. The boy stared at the scene in horror. Everywhere he turned the evidence of cruel and wanton murder was present. As the priest moved further ahead Shub noticed the slumped form of a uniformed man sagging in a chair. A shiver ran down Shubs spine as he looked at the dead man's eyes; wide open and staring at the ceiling. Something silver on the man's arm caught his attention and he paused to see what it was. A nagging sense of 'wrongness' about the corpse warned Shub. His mind registered the minute difference in the way the air flowed and the slight blur of the air mere moments before the very air in front of him warped and bent revealing the large demonic creature. As Shubs sight adjusted, the last remnants of the arcane glamour that had hidden the creature shattered. In a swift motion the creature lunged and caught Shubs hand in a crushing grip. The boy cried out in pain and both Franciscus and the servitor whirled around, aghast to find a warp entity clutching the terrified boy. The creature once known as Tannhauser smiled a feral smile as it eyed the priest and his servitor. "A deluded servant of the corpse-god and a flesh puppet, I wonder what brings you here?" The creature mused its voice feminine one moment and masculine the next. It tightened its grip on the child causing him to scream out in pain."You want the young one don't you?" It said softly with a honeyed tongue."What significance could such a little plaything have for you?" A daemonic claw tightened further snapping Shubs fingers and the bones in his hand. Shub howled in agony as the shards of broken bone severed veins in his hand and nerve-wracking pain shot up his arm. Even worse he could feel the insidious power of the warp trying to warp his body and whisper to his mind. Franciscus did not betray any of his thoughts as he faced the Daemon. He raised his gaze and spoke:"Upon the great golden gates of the most holy sanctum on Terra there is written 'consort not with the warp for it is weakness and corruption personified, condone not the heretic for they are the evil that would eat us from within, suffer not the daemon to live for they are the darkness surrounding our light'" his voice became stronger as he recited the ancient words. "In the name of he who sits on the Golden Throne I denounce you servant of Slaanesh, and sentence you to excruciating death and banishment back to the warp from whence you came." The slaaneshi Daemon giggled madly: "You priestly types are so amusing, I will enjoy feasting on your body and soul" It hurled Shub to the side where he hit the wall and slumped to the ground, unconscious. It bared wicked fangs, snarled, and charged at Franciscus. "Servitor, deliver justice" the priest intoned. As soon as the words had left Franciscus lips the servitors' built-in cogitators enacted the protocols linked to the voice-command. Sub –dermal dispensers injected a highly volatile cocktail of stimulants and aggressive short term bio enhancements. The effect was to literally allow the servitors remaining tissue and essential fluids to feed upon itself to provide a short burst of energy."In nomine Deus Imperator" the servitor droned, its muscles bulging and frame twitching with barely contained fury. It roared an inhuman cry through its vox-grille as if there was still some vestige left of the man it had once been, and charged.

Outside the battle raged on. The disciplined ranks of Imperial Storm troopers advanced in a defensive pattern laying down a withering hail of fire with their hell guns. The inquisitor leading them picked off targets one by one with an ornate plasma pistol, melting armour and flesh alike. Cultists fell in great swathes as they scrambled for cover. A pack of Daemonettes emerged and charged the right flank of the Storm trooper formation, dodging shots with unnatural agility. The first three Storm troopers died in seconds as they were ripped apart by claws and fangs. The inquisitor bellowed a challenge and sprang forward his maul blazing with a crackling blue power field. He ignored the first daemonette attack, taking a clawed strike on his gold trimmed power armour, and caved its face in with a devastating strike to the head. Warp spawned flesh and demonic bone sizzled and popped as the inquisitor struck down his opponents left and right. The lithe creatures shrieked and withered when they closed in on him, repulsed and burnt by the Holy Scripture on his armour and the many purity seals. The Storm troopers rallied around his position and resumed their slow but methodical advance.

Lady Eleanor Kyan of the Ordo Hereticus stood before the enormous armoured stained glass window dominating the bridge of _the Spear of Retribution_ with her hands clasped behind her back. She was clad in the full trappings of her office: An elegant suit of form-fitting dark red carapace armour decorated with a host of miniature golden skulls and a long black cloak covering her back reaching almost to the floor. Her long blonde hair was woven into a complex braid interlaced with psycho-active crystalline strands. She viewed the spectacle outside with no visible emotion, her blue eyes observing but not judging. Positioned behind her in a semi-circle were her elite bodyguards: seven women towering more than a head over her clad in resplendent silver ceramite armour adorned with crimson lining and scrolls of holy text. Their helmets bore black markings and red targeting lenses showing nothing of the person inside. They wielded a collection of weaponry, a heavy flamer fuelled by blessed promethium, an incredibly ancient melta cannon, and several well maintained heavy bolters. Each weapon looked in perfect condition with purity seals attached to barrels and sacred oils coating the magazines and canisters. The grim and silent Adepta Sororitas stood with weapons lowered but kept a careful watch of the bridge and any who would dare approach their sworn charge. Lady Kyan motioned for one of the Sisters of Battle to join her."It never ceases to amaze me to see the wrath of the Emperor unleashed on the heretic, Sister Celestian" The woman, a veteran of dozens of conflicts and the commander of the detachment assigned to safeguard the Inquisitor, merely nodded solemnly as she observed the spectacle outside. The _Spear of Retribution_ had manoeuvred into low orbit after destroying the remnants of the pirate fleet. Periodically a great flash lit up the hull and space surrounding the Battle Cruiser as its lance batteries fired beams of supercharged energy to the surface of Wagner Secundus; each beam powerful enough to level mountains and destroy entire cities. The capital ships artillery was targeting concentrations of heretic PDF troops and eradicating them like one would eradicate an infestation of insects. Each successful lance hit ended the lives of hundreds if not thousands of men and women as they and the area surrounding them were vaporized. Eleanor contemplated the forces in motion around the relatively unimportant planet and the overwhelming force being applied. Several ranking Inquisitor Lords had used all means and assets at their disposal to amass a powerful taskforce to mass in the Wagner system. Many favours had been called in, and when the Inquisition called, other organisations heeded that call. She had personally commandeered _the Spear of Retribution_ and her escort ships to bring her and her war band of Adepta Sororitas to Wagner Secundus with all speed. According to the reports filtering through from the surface the imperial taskforce should achieve control of the theatre of operations soon enough. Not very surprising: Cultists ,even though backed up by some demonic forces, were just no match for hand-picked inquisitorial storm troopers, a Death-watch Kill-team, and the personal retinues of no less than five ranking Inquisitors. She could not wait though to see the reason for this grand show of force. She whirled in place and commanded her retinue:"Sisters prepare my shuttle for landing. It is time we bought the God-Emperors justice to Wagner Secundus."

Two unnatural creatures met in a tremendous crash pitting imperial technology against warp fuelled strength. A flurry of strikes, almost too fast to register with the unaided eye, left a series of bruises and gashes on the servitor's body. It responded with a vicious hook with its mechanical claw which his opponent ducked easily. The Daemon stepped forward diagonally and tore open the servitors back sending sparks and dark blue liquid flying from the horrible wound. Paying no attention to the gash that would have easily incapacitated a normal human the servitor swung back and clipped the Daemon with his elbow soliciting a grunt and causing it to stumble back a few steps. Raising its weaponized arm the servitor aimed as the powerful pulse laser charged.

A fusillade of high energy laser bolts emitted from the servitors weapon producing a shrieking sound. The Daemon however had already twisted aside with unnatural speed leaving the bolts to hit the large armoured viewport behind them. The tremendous energy, released upon impact, left a web of hairline fractures in the thick reinforced glass. Franciscus used the distraction to swing his roaring chain sword in a powerful horizontal strike hitting the Daemon in the back and tearing off chunks of warp-flesh. It roared and backhanded the priest sending him flying backwards. The servitor responded by lunging forward with a vicious attack with his mechanical claw managing only to hit the Daemons' upper arm. Ignoring the servo-powered claw now clamped on his arm the creature punched his other clawed fist into the joint connecting the pulse laser to the servitors pale flesh.

The Daemon grinned broadly at the bruised and battered priest as he tore off the servitor's lower arm with a claw shimmering with vile warp energy. "Your flesh puppet is done for. How unfortunate." Franciscus shook his head to clear his vision and squinted at his foe, getting to his feet with some difficulty"You talk too much warp spawn" Snarling the creature tossed the servitors wrecked arm to the ground."I am going to tear you apart one digit at a time wretched slave!" It spat.

Servitor 44D-I76 was in the last moments of its active duty to the Omnissiah. Its internal systems were about to shut down due to massive damage and the effects of the combat drugs raging through its veins and gears. Logic engines processed data and tactical options and finally saw one last chance at success. The servitor kept his grip on the daemon, pistons straining to lock the claw firmly in place on its upper arm. Trailing liquids from the shattered arm that once housed its laser weapon it ran with all the speed and power of a 300 kg enraged combat servitor and hurled itself against the weakened armoured glass of the viewport. With an enormous crash the ornamental glass shattered sending both the servitor and the Daemon hurtling towards their doom. Gale force winds roared through the shattered window nearly blotting out the sounds of alarms and Shubs laboured breathing.

Franciscus stood still for a moment, shrugged and moved to check on the boy. Alarms still rang and the room reeked of chemicals.

Shub looked up at the man and reached out his hand pleadingly, droplets of blood dripping from his mangled fingers and pooling on the floor."Please, help me" He groaned with the effort of not screaming and cold sweat ran down his neck and back. A nasty throbbing sensation suffused his injured hand and arm and veins of purple could be seen making their way up his wrist towards his elbow.

The man stared at the wounded boy for a moment and swung his chainsword in a powerful downward arc severing Shubs hand at the wrist. "The Emperor provides what you need, not necessarily what you want" he intoned grimly.

As the man closed on Shub the boy gazed in shock at the rhythmic streams of blood jetting from his wrist before passing out.


	10. Chapter 10 I Hallowed Halls

**After the introduction, a prelude really, of some of the characters in this piece of fan-fiction, the story continues or rather actually begins, with the protagonists 'early years' Thanks for all the PM's , followers, and reviews: they are greatly encouraging and motivate me to continue work on this story. A special hello to Savage Thruster whom I actually encountered in a totally different setting and who recognized my username :D *waves* If you have any questions, suggestions, or requests: send me a message or post a review and I will look into it. In case people are wondering: English is not my native tongue so forgive any archaic use of words or strange proverbs **

**For the following chapters expect violence, much smashing of face and limbs, and the occasional occurrence of strange and exotic dangers. But not before a whole lot of administrative non-sense. **

**When finished reading you will obviously be mind-scrubbed and sent to serve in a penal legion. Or rebuilt as a servitor serving drinks at the local Tech-priest bar.**

**Hallowed halls**

**Segmentum Ultima, Ultramar, Espandor System, Emeriss moon**

Ultramar: beacon of order and law in the vast war-torn expanse of Imperial Space. Although greatly lessened compared to its days before the Great Heresy it still stood as an exemplar of military power and prosperity through adherence to the ideals of the Empire of Man. Its nine systems all beholden to the ruler of Macragge it housed countless billions of imperial citizens, hundreds of well-trained regiments of soldiers, and of course the might of the Ultramarines Chapter and some of its successor chapters. Emeriss was one of the smaller planets in the Espandor system, a verdant planet with a geography that seemed oversized in all aspects: enormous mountain ranges, ancient forests where millennia old giants shielded shadowy forest floors with their mighty branches, tempestuous seas, and rolling grassy plains that seemed to stretch beyond the horizon. Even the sparse fauna seemed exaggerated: towering ursine creatures over three times the height of a man, majestic predatory birds and gargantuan aquatic mammals. It has been said that the XVIII Legion sent its recruits here to test their prowess against some of the largest predators but no living soul on Emeriss had ever witnessed such an event.

Sheltered in a valley and located next to a crystal blue river that slowly meandered its way past meadows and woods was the Schola Progenium. Although it bore a formal name in High Gothic it had been known to the citizens of Ultramar as The Academy for generations. Many famous and illustrious careers had started in the Academy and only the very best eligible orphans found their way to its hallowed halls. The ancient Imperial institution was housed in a sprawling complex of fortified monasteries, cathedrals and underground bunkers. Unlike most Imperial structures it blended into the natural surroundings, its thick moss-covered walls often seeming to flow directly into the grassy hills. Proud banners depicting the symbols of Ultramar and the Imperial Aquila flew in the warm breeze as the thousands of servants, academy staff, and students went about their business.

In one of the many wings of the complex a highly secure medical facility tended to the needs of the students and staff. Currently a security detail of black armoured storm troopers stood at attention while a bearded man clad in a brown robe whispered to one of the medicae staff. The man finished his conversation and made the sign of the Aquila before departing, followed by his retinue. The medicae, a woman in her forties sighed and went back to check the data on a display attached to a massive glass-steel cylinder.

**Solitary confinement unit MB-01, Medical Wing Ultramar Academy 2 weeks later**

Shub scratched at his artificial hand for the 322nd time that morning. It was hard to get used to the sensation of… absence. He constantly felt as if his lower arm and hand were still there, even itching, but when he looked all he saw was a dull grey bionic replacement. He flexed his muscles or rather thought about flexing them and the metal digits opened and closed as ordered. It would take some time to get rid of the delay he had been told by the Medicae and attending Tech-priest but eventually the prosthetic would function as well if not better than a real limb. For now it was uncomfortable and added to the increasing list of things to make his day miserable.

Tomorrow would be his first day as a student in class 412-B of the Academy. Apparently people in high places had pulled strings to enrol him despite his obvious shortcomings compared to the elite of Ultramar he would be joining. He had neither a noble heritage nor a family of dedicated servants to the Emperor to boast off. In fact Shub felt decidedly out of place in the Spartan, clean surroundings. The ordeal of Manufactorum Gamma and the confrontation with a Daemon seemed a thing from the distant past mostly featuring in his nightmares. Flashes of violence and strange deformed creatures stalked him in his dreams and often he awoke screaming the name of his dead friend Gor. He had only regained consciousness a few times after leaving Wagner and several times Franciscus had been at his side explaining why he had cut off Shubs arm. He recalled hearing of the taint of the warp and being lucky to be alive but had soon sunk back in a deep, dreamless sleep.

The data slate he had been handed was filled with rosters and schedules detailing his required presence in the various rooms, halls, and courtyards of the Academy. Prayers in the Cathedral at 06.00 would start off the day followed by lectures on the Theological nature of the Imperial organisation and analysis of the many virtues of the Eclessiarchy. The rest of the day would be filled with 'Basic combat training' With the number of classes he was required to attend tomorrow he would barely have time to meet his fellow students. Getting the chance to meet others was something Shub was looking forward to after what seemed like an eternity in the secured confines of the medical wing.

He hadn't seen or spoken to Franciscus since the journey from Wagner Secundus. He hadn't seen many people at all in fact. He had mainly been tended to by the female Medicae Alicia and her assistants in the secluded medical wing. Shub paced around his Spartan room slowly, taking care not to lose his balance. Devotional prayers droned from a built-in vox system extolling the many virtues of the Imperial Faith and the supremacy of mankind. He winced for a moment, the newly mended bones in his body still painful and sat down carefully to rest.

Recovery was a slow process; Shubs body had been malnourished, dehydrated, and bruised and battered when he was recovered from Wagner Secundus, not to mention his lower arm having been severed by a chain sword. A full month of being submerged in a medical tank had also wrought havoc on his musculature and balance despite extensive electro-stimulants and hormone treatments. The greatest change had taken place in his mind however: his gift, once sporadic and unreliable had grown, matured, even. His memory had always been good but he now found that he could recall minute details from events years back. Even stranger: from only a few pieces of data he could deduce vast amounts of information. With every piece of the puzzle added Shub found there were more question marks and more unexplainable events. Why had they rescued him from the Manufactorum? Where did his powers come from? What was his purpose here? Why did he have recollection of so many strange things in his mind? As If on cue little bits of knowledge flashed from his subconscious to his attention:

_The Ork body, although simian in appearance is in fact more akin to a sentient fungal growth. Its main weakness is localized in dense masses of nerve fibre located in neck and thigh. Records have shown that a mature Ork specimen can survive for several minutes without its head..._

_Primary cogitator function in class IV Lath-class combat servitors is optimized at a core temperature of 08.12 degrees…_

_Decisive in compliance of the Purgatory system was the use of the 405__th__ Krieg engineer Regiment utilizing Atomic charges to disrupt the tectonic plate on which the central Heretic Hive was located…_

_Firing of the honoured Basilisk Machine shall not commence without applying the proper incense and reciting the Litany of Death from Afar and the Litany of Hatred..._

Shub sat on the edge of his sleeping mat with his head in his hands. His life had always been about surviving, coping with hardship and suffering. He had never had the opportunity to choose his own path. Now he found himself, once again, forced into a position he did not choose. He shook his head trying to clear his mind. Tomorrow, after two weeks of isolation, his training at the Academy would commence and he was determined to make the most of it. Sighing deeply Shub got to his feet and started a series of slowly performed exercises meant to strengthen his muscles and improve his coordination. Had a knowledgeable observer been at hand he would have been surprised to see a 12 year old boy moving through the blocks and thrusts of the 7th set of Mordian Infantry Close Combat Doctrine.

**Ultramar Academy, Grand Master Osirian's office**

Franciscus leaned back in the comfortable chair and sipped his amasec, a rare and expensive vintage from one of the agri-worlds of Ultramar. The spacious office around him was panelled with exotic wood and richly decorated with tapestries and oil paintings of the Academies illustrious Grand Masters. A large fireplace sat beneath a prominent Metal Aquila stretching over 2 metres. A female servant, one of the older students, clad in an impeccable uniform stood at a respectful distance bearing a silver tray with refreshments. Several scribes and administrative aids could be heard conversing in hushed tones in the adjacent room, sorting reports and stacks of documents detailing the daily proceedings of the Schola Progenium. Seated in the chair opposite to him was a man who looked to be 70 years of age with proud patrician features and thinning blonde hair. Observant green eyes and facial features that resembled a carved piece of basalt made it clear that Grand Master Osirian was an important person. The grandmasters voluminous robes bore many badges and laurels denoting his exalted academic position and was completed by several rings crafted from precious metals and set with a multitude of gems. Despite all the trappings of power and status, Grand Master Osirian, 5th in his line to be head of the vaunted Academy of Ultramar was scared. Very scared. Receiving visitors from the Inquisition was not a regular occurrence especially one bearing the authentication Lord Franciscus had shown when he arrived.

"I assure you my Lord, the academy will tend to your young protégée with the utmost care and attention. We have a record of the finest academic achievement and the best tutors in the Segmentum." Osirian said, nervously sipping his drink.

"Your assurances are neither required nor necessary Grand Master. I trust you to enact the will of my office to the best of your ability." Franciscus paused for a moment to absentmindedly rub the inquisitorial seal on his ring. "Young Shub will be offered the same curriculum and testing as the rest of your students and will be spared effort nor ordeal. It must be clear however that no permanent harm may come to him for any reason at all." "His presence here and…affiliation with my organisation is to remain secret. You are the only one to know of his link with the Ordo. Any breach of these terms will result in drawing the full interest of my order and the associated investigations of the people responsible." Franciscus looked Osirian in the eye. "You, Grand Master, are ultimately responsible for the Academy. Do not fail the Inquisition." Franciscus drained his glass of the remaining amasec with one gulp and got up. Osirian and the aide carrying the silver platter quickly moved to bow. With a swift gesture Franciscus waved his hand at the girl who was trying to both gracefully bow and balance a tray simultaneously. An intense flash of red shot from his hand to the girls head and seared a neat hole in her skull. The stench of burnt hair and skin permeated the room as the girl slumped to the plush carpet, tray and glasswork smashing to pieces and scattering crystal fragments. "The Emperor protects, Grand Master" Fransiscus intoned as he left the office.

**A dusty courtyard somewhere in the Academy grounds **

Drill-Abbot Shagtan was a giant of a dark-skinned man towering over his students with a two metre tall body criss-crossed with scars both old and new. He had a bald head, dark brown eyes that showed little emotion and a jawline reminiscent of an Ork. Only his face betrayed his age with the teeth of time etching out an ever increasing pattern of lines and grooves. Thick corded muscle and almost no body fat; Shagtan looked more like an escaped pit-fighter than an instructor of a group of children. Yet that was exactly what he was. Rumour was that he was an ex storm trooper and veteran of many wars. Others placed him as a former bodyguard of a planetary governor. Shagtar himself did not stoop to answer the many questions about his past. Most often he communicated with the students of the Schola Progenium through his favoured medium: controlled violence. His method of tuition was based on a few simple principles: in order to build one must first be broken down. It pays to be a winner. And finally and most importantly: Until the moment a student could beat him they had no rights whatsoever.

Shagtar had been the nemesis of students at the Schola for decades and the list of injuries caused by his brutal daily training was the source of many wagers. Despite his violence and harsh treatment of students he was greatly respected by the Schola senior staff.

The afternoon sun glared in the sky bathing the dusty courtyard in sweltering heat. The sand had the colour of old blood and retained the heat, causing the temperature to rise even further. Great pillars of dark stone bordered the area and provided areas of shade. Several corridors led from the courtyard deeper into the massive complex. Drill-Abbot Shagtar stood in the middle of a circle drawn in the sand. Facing him, lined up in a neat row were the children of class 412-B. The youngest being twelve years of age and the oldest nineteen. Shub stood between a tall lanky 14 year old boy named Alek and a 13 year old boy whom everybody called Stubs for his short, rather rotund posture. Compared to the other boys Shub looked like a stray dog: short messy hair, still thin and covered from head to toe with bruises and scars. His augmetic lower arm and hand were painfully hot and sent a dull aching pain shooting up his arm and shoulder. He squinted against the bright sun, his grey eyes studying the Drill-Abbot and the courtyard. Its nickname was the Proving Grounds and it was the place where young students started their real training.

The Schola Progenium worked according to ancient Munitorum rules and guidelines so complex and convoluted that an entire section of the library was dedicated to housing its many dusty tomes. Each child taken into the academy faced a year of testing and scrutiny before proceeding to the rest of their education. Those judged to weak or morally unfit were sent off never to be seen again while those that passed the rigorous testing and questioning were placed in one of several classes. With the different ages entering the classes this could lead to severe imbalance in some cases but every student was expected to perform to the same exacting standard demanded by instructors.

"Fear leads to weakness, weakness leads to doubt, doubt leads to heresy" Shagtar intoned with his surprisingly soft voice. He eyed the line of children trying to stand straight and face his gaze without flinching. His eyes stopped at the trembling form of Stubs."You, into the ring" The boy hesitated for a moment and wiped the sweat off his forehead. Seeing the Drill-Abbots facial expression he quickly stepped forward into the ring drawn into the sand. Stubs eyed the imposing figure anxiously trying not to show his fear too much. "The rules are simple: no weapons allowed, you only stop when I tell you too, there can only be one winner." The boys all nodded. "Now little one, try to kill me" Shagtar said. Everyone giggled including Stubs until they noticed the expression on Shagtars face. The fat boy swallowed audibly. "You have 'till the count of three to try and kill me before I come for you" The Drill-Abbot said stretching his arms and loosening the muscles and tendons in his neck and back.

"One" Stubs looked around nervously and moved forward cautiously, his little fists raised. "Two" The boy looked around helplessly for any form of assistance. In a sudden explosion of movement the giant of a man sprang forward and struck out with his left fist hitting the boy on the right side of his jaw. With an audible shattering sound the boy was propelled through the air to land on his back a few metres outside of the circle. Neither he nor the rest of the boys moved as Shagtar stood straight and brushed some flecks of blood off his fist. "Last rule: trust no one once you are in the ring, especially me" "You" He pointed at another boy.

In several minutes the Drill-Abbot had knocked out, incapacitated or injured most of the class. A few of the older ones had tried a few swings or kicks but no one had actually managed to land a hit. The class was lined up being tended to by several medicae. Shagtar was barely breathing hard when he pointed at Shub. "You" The boy stepped into the ring calmly despite the carnage he had seen being wrought on the other children. His pulse slowed and time seemed to crawl forward, a sign of his extraordinary mind working. From the previous bouts of sparring his mind had learnt much of Shagtars style of fighting. It was an adaptation of the close combat techniques used by the Cadian armed forces; fast and deadly with a preference for powerful strikes and kicks. It left little room for error. Subconsciously Shub dropped into a loose fighting stance with his legs slightly bent at the knee and feet at shoulder width. His hands moved into a loose open palmed guarding position. The Drill-Abbot raised a bushy eyebrow and flexed his muscles. "Looks like there's some fight in this one"

With a grin he moved forward, feinting a left jab before delivering a devastating right hook. Shub instinctively moved closer to the man, ducking beneath the hook and slapping his open hand with as much strength as he could muster against the extended arm of Shagtar causing him to slightly loose his balance. Thrusting upward Shub focussed all the power and ferocity he had into a vicious strike into Shagtars armpit, one of the few places in the human body where muscle and bone do not shield a point where nerves converge. The Drill-Abbots arm immediately went limp as the excruciatingly painful strike to his Plexus Brachialis shut down motoric function in the limb. Shub followed up by a series of fast strikes to the kidneys and abdomen intending to weaken his opponent. His unnatural inherent ability to fight did not compensate for the difference in raw power however. Shagtar ignored the strikes that would have felled an average opponent and instead rammed his knee into Shub. The boy attempted a quick double handed block but had no chance to stop the massive knee crashing into his chest. He blacked out only to regain consciousness on his back in the sand with the Drill-Abbot towering over him. "Where did a kid like you pick up Catachan close combat techniques?" Shub tried to answer but could only manage a wheezing cough. "Never mind, if you think being trained by a guardsman is going to help you in here you are sorely mistaken." Shagtar gestured and a few of the less severely injured children helped Shub back to his feet.

"Now it is time to start your training, form up in pairs!" the Drill-Abbot thundered and everyone quickly scattered to do his bidding. The rest of the day was spent in gruelling training and physical exercise. Although Shub still had some trouble breathing from the hit he took to the chest he quickly fell into the rhythm of punching, kicking and blocking. Despite being the youngest in his class it was clear from the start his technique and ability to read his opponents made him one of the more effective fighters. The other top fighter was Namuth Eginias, last surviving member of a famous family of Imperial Navy Officers. He had lost his family when their home planet had been raided by Xenos. The Eldar had butchered many and taken captive even more. By some miracle Namuth survived the ordeal locked in a cellar. He had been found and sent to the Schola Progenium at the age of six and had spent most of his youth in the institution. Namuth and Shub were enemies from the moment they first laid eyes on each other. The noble born Namuth despised Shubs lack of etiquette and his coarse mannerisms, Shub resented the other boy's arrogant behaviour and sense of superiority. It was with some anxiety then that the two faced each other in the last of the days sparring sessions.

Namuth was clearly larger and stronger. With his 14 years he had the benefit of a more developed musculature and a larger reach. His style of fighting was centred on quickly closing with his opponent, distracting with fast blows to the head or other vulnerable areas and finishing him by establishing a choke hold or dislocating limbs. He had already sent three others to the Medical wing with various injuries and looked eager to take on Shub. Shub on the other hand did not look very dangerous but his class knew differently after seeing him in action with the Drill-Abbot. His stance and style varied with each opponent, his techniques seemingly following his motion as if they were a natural extension of his body.

The two faced each other in the hot sand of the proving grounds. In the background grunts and cries of pain could be heard as the rest of their class trained and went through the motions of sparring. Both were tired from several hours of hard physical exercise but determined to prove something to the other. Five of the boys who always followed Namuth around the Academy stood nearby eager to see the fight. "You might be here but you are not one us offworlder" Namuth spat as he slowly circled around Shub. "I do not know who was bribed or who messed up but the Academy is no place for lowborn Off world scum like you. I am going to put you in your place and smash you into the dirt where you belong" Some of the bystanders laughed and jeered at Shub who stood in a relaxed position with his arms next to his torso, slightly bent at the elbow. He shrugged: "Noble birth or social status won't help you in battle Namuth. Being angry will only distract you and make it easier for your opponent." With a snarl Namuth sprang forward launching a punches and kicks at Shub. Stepping left and right Shub dodged most of the attacks and blocked those that came too close. The older boy wasn't holding back and it took some effort to deflect his attacks. Shubs breath quickened and he focussed his concentration. _Left left right, kick, kick, left left right, kick._ After a minute, which felt like an eternity Shub saw the pattern in his opponents attacks. Embedded between feints and lunges was a basic pattern in the older boy's attacks. Shub shifted his stance slightly turning his left side towards Namuth. He dodged one powerful left hook, then leant backwards to avoid a left handed jab that would have shattered his nose. He swayed ever so slightly to his left inviting the right handed attack he knew would come. Sure enough Namuth, looking to capitalize on his opponent's mistake, put all his anger into a crushing right handed hook aimed at Shubs head. Shub lunged forward to get within the arc of the strike blocked the extended forearm with his left hand and rammed his augmetic right hand into Namuths upper arm taking away most of the power behind the hook. Using his momentum he twisted and turned around using the weight of his body to lead his left elbow. The point of Shubs elbow hit Namuth in the stomach causing him to double over in pain. A right uppercut landed firmly on the older boys chin and sent him sprawling to the ground. Shubs breath came in laboured gulps as sweat poured down his body. The entire fight had taken just over a minute but had exhausted him. "Well fought Namuth but like I said you are too angry to fight well. Maybe that's the lesson you will learn from today" Shub grinned and turned to walk away only to walk right into a fist aimed at his face by Siphir one of Namuths cronies. The unexpected attack caught him right on the jaw and dropped him to the sand like a ragdoll. The others rushed in and savagely kicked him in the stomach and side as Namuth slowly got to his feet. A trickle of blood from a small cut on his chin ran down his neck mingling with the sweat and sand.

"Enough" The Drill-Abbots command cut through all the noise and immediately everyone stopped what they were doing. "Perhaps the lesson you have learned today young Shub is that there is strength in numbers." Shagtar glared at both Shub and Namuth. "Your hatred is a tool, use it well and in service to the God-Emperor but remember in here I decide about life and death." He turned to view the rest of the class. "Go and cleanse your selves. Those that can't walk will be brought to the Medicae. I expect you here again tomorrow at noon." The class, including Shub who had managed to climb to his feet, bowed deeply "As you command Drill-Abbot" they intoned in unison. As they marched back into the complex to get cleaned up Shub couldn't help but notice Namuths deadly glare.


	11. Chapter 11 II Just as planned

**Segmentum Tempestus, Nascaris System, Nascaris Prime, 120 kilometres south of Vexilla Nascaria**

The creature stood motionless in its massive suit of baroque armour. Thick slabs of ceramite plating were decorated with golden engravings and sigils of power. Wicked spikes of cartilage pierced though the massive pauldrons impaling a grisly collection of skull-trophies. Brightly coloured tubes emerged from the mechanized collar and embedded themselves painfully in the creature's neck and throat. The absence of a helmet revealed a hideously scarred orb of flesh only vaguely reminiscent of a head. Two baleful orbs of crimson hate stood above a fang filled mouth and vestigial nostrils. One of its arms terminated in an oversized mechanical fist crackling with wisps and currents of power. Its other hand held a large, ornate, double barrelled bolt weapon fashioned in the semblance of a pair of snarling reptiles. The armour was ancient, bearing scars from the battle on Terra itself and its wearer had not left its arcane confinement in thousands of years.

Lord Ardrecht surveyed the field of battle in silence. With his three metres he towered over his personal guard of seven Traitor Space Marines. Each of them a veteran of centuries of bloody conflict and clad in Power armour the colour of old scabs and dried blood. Although each was massive in his bulky armour they were dwarfed by their lord and commander in his ancient suit of Terminator Armour crafted by an amalgamation of technology and sorcery on a distant demon world. In the valley ahead a fierce battle raged over a front spanning several kilometres. Squadrons of Leman Russ Battle tanks belched smoke as they manoeuvred into firing position or swerved to avoid incoming fire. A series of trenches and bunkers with overlapping arcs of fire prevented access to the area beyond: Vexilla Nascaris, a teeming industrial complex housing hundreds of thousands of imperial citizens and responsible for nearly 20% of the planets Tithe. In the far distance his enhanced senses could detect the flashes and thundering booms of Basilisk artillery firing deadly salvos of earth shaker shells. A vast horde of screaming cultists hurled themselves at the defensive lines of the 51st Targen Rifle Regiment accomplishing little more than an accelerated messy death as they were cut down in droves by massed heavy bolter fire from the bunkers and pillboxes. Several times the horde closed the distance to the defensive lines to within a hundred metres only to be decimated by volley after volley of concerted lasfire. The battlefield was slick with blood and corpses and filled with the screams of the dead and dying. The forces of chaos were being slaughtered.

Aldrecht chuckled, a predatory rumbling sound carrying no mirth at all. A hideous fusion of man and machine, power-armoured with his face hidden by a large hooded robe, approached trailing a forest of twitching mechadendrites. "My Lord, our cultist forces are being depleted at the projected rate. They are estimated to last another 32 minutes if…sufficiently.. Motivated. Chances of breaching the Imperial line: 0.045%" The massive Chaos Lord dismissed the Heretek and turned to one of his guards. "The barges are in position to start their assault on the lunar facility. The fools have committed the bulk of their defensive forces here." His maw widened in the semblance of a feral grin. "Let us make sure that they are kept busy here while we move towards the true prize. Release the World Eaters!"

Three great Thunderhawk gunships, coloured in a scintillating array of gold, silver and purple swooped over the hillside where Ardrecht stood. Scores of emerald and ruby coloured eyes dotted the once noble ships hulls and fuselage, blinking and surveying the surrounding area with their unnatural gaze. As the ships passed the sound of hundreds of ghostly voices could be heard wailing in agony. A squadron of nine smaller Hell talon fighters darted in front of the slower more heavily armed ships swooping left and right as their entombed servitor pilots scanned for targets. Clamped beneath the Corrupted Thunderhawks were huge spherical objects seemingly forged out of bands of dull iron. Each ship carried two of them for a total of six, clamped in the dorsal cargo hold where normally Landraiders or other heavy armour would be carried. As the aerial strike force neared the Imperial line anti-aircraft fire opened up dotting the sky with black clouds as Hydra Flak-tanks unleashed thousands of shells. Two of the Hell talon fighters went up in balls of fire as razor-sharp fragments tore through wings and engines. The remaining fighters returned fire with their quad auto cannons peppering the imperial lines with solid shells that burst through flesh and easily ripped through light armour. The three Thunderhawks came in fast and low laying down a withering hail of fire with their heavy bolters and lascannons. At the last instant, just before they would pass the Imperial line of defence, the three craft banked as one, executing a sharp turn to the right. With a loud click and the hiss of pistons the large spherical objects detached hurtling towards the ground like massive cannonballs. Each globe, measuring over 5 metres in diameter, crashed into the ground smashing guardsmen to a bloody pulp and continued to roll onwards carried by their momentum. After a few seconds great serrated blades emerged from the Spheres surface maiming entire squads that were unable to move out of its path fast enough. Additionally the blades found purchase in the ground and trenches slowing the Spheres pace. Ten seconds after being dropped the six spheres came to a halt right in the middle of the Imperial line of defence. Surrounding platoons rushed to restore some semblance of order to the line as hundreds of their fellow soldiers lay dead or dying around them. Wisps of smoke rose from the pitted iron exterior of the spheres, by now covered in blood and gore. A nearby commissar led a squad of Guardsmen to one of the spheres, bolt-pistol drawn and black cloak fluttering in the wind. His stern gaze promised only death for the enemies of the Imperium and any that would fail to support it to the best of their ability. With a loud clanking sound the sphere opened releasing clouds of smoke. The guardsmen around the object raised their lasguns, looking to their commissar for orders.

A primal scream of rage, distorted by mechanical interference resounded and several giants emerged from the Sphere. Their ornate power armour was coloured blood-red and trimmed with gold and skulls. Runes of brass covered breastplates and pauldrons worn and scarred with age. Each of the warriors wielded an enormous Chain-axe, easily the size of a grown man. The Commissar fired his Bolt Pistol at the Astartes and screamed at the top of his lungs "FOR THE EMPEROR! Death to the Heretics!" Like ravenous predators, unleashed to feed at last, the bloodthirsty berserkers rushed forward ignoring the impact of bolt rounds and lasfire that simply ricocheted off their armour. The lead Berserker cleft the commissar in two with one mighty strike of his chain axe, blood and gore spraying all around. "BLOOD FOR THE BLOODGOD!" it screamed and charged into the first group of guardsmen it saw.

All around the defensive line the scene was similar: Great Spheres opened to disgorge frothing, frenzied Khornate berserkers. Roused from their chemically induced slumber and injected with a volatile mix of stimulants the former Astartes killed without strategy or cunning. Hundreds of soldiers of the Targen 51st Rifle regiment died in the first minutes of the engagement, hacked to pieces or simply crushed by power-armoured gloves or boots. But after the first shock had worn off the regiment regrouped, Officers shouting commands through vox-casters, squads and platoons retreating and making use of covering fire. The first World Eater died when a lascannon hit him in the chest, vaporizing the thick ceramite breastplate and burning a large hole right through. The next two were blown to pieces when a Leman Russ Battle Tank fired its massive cannon at close range. The battle line reformed with armoured reserves moving to the front. The band of World Eaters reaped a bloody toll, taking down ten, sometimes twenty opponents before succumbing to massed heavy weapons fire but one by one the gene enhanced killers died surrounded by heaps of limbs, ruined corpses and streams of blood. Even as they died they shouted hoarse tribute to Khorne while choking on their own blood. The Targen 51st had taken a bloody beating but stood their ground, the full might of the Emperors guard unleashed at their opponents. Within half an hour the last of the Berserkers had been killed leaving the Targen guardsmen to reform their line and resume their defence against the cultist infantry rushing towards them once again.

**Segmentum Tempestus, Nascaris System, NP-94X-iii primary moon of Nascaris**

With a flash of energy, a thunderclap and the sound of rushing air Chaos Lord Aldrecht and his elite guard teleported into the heart of the Adeptus Mechanicum facility located on the primary moon of Nascaris. Immediately the Chaos veterans moved into a defensive formation, covering all angles of approach to their lord. The whine and hiss of beam weapons resounded through the complex mixed with the harsh bark of Bolt guns. Squads of Chaos Space marines swept the area methodically eliminating the last pockets of resistance. The tiled floor was cracked and covered in stains; blood and some form of liquid artificial cooling agent. The great dome covering the Mechanicum research facility was still intact, no surprise since its meter thick armoured glass was designed to withstand small scale meteoric impact.

The lumbering Chaos Lord moved towards the centre of the complex in great steps that shook the surroundings and left hairline fractures in the floor. Despite the enormous weight of the suit of Tactical Dreadnought Armour he moved as swiftly and with as much confidence as if taking a casual stroll. As he moved closer to his destination the signs of recent battle became more pronounced; scorch marks, the shattered bodies of combat-servitors and automated gun-turrets and even the occasional corpse of one of the Chaos Space Marines of his war band. Aldrecht cared not for the death of his followers. They served only to work towards his own success and ascendance in the eyes of his master; the Architect of Fate. He had casually discarded the lives of the band of World Eaters just to tie up the imperial defenders on planet "Blind homicidal idiots, they are only fit to die to further my own designs" he muttered wrenching aside a plas-steel door with his Power-fist. The gullible Berserkers were easily duped and manipulated into serving him as long as there was promise of bloodshed.

The chamber he entered was huge and filled with a dazzling array of machines and technology. A raised dais was surrounded by projectors generating a softly humming stasis field. Kept aloft by ancient grav-technology was an eight metre tall ovoid object resembling an oversized leathery egg. In a circle around the object lay the last line of Mechanicum defenders, heavily augmented Magos Biologis, slain as they attempted to defend their work.

Aldrecht gazed at the object and a halo of gold and grey flame wreathed his hulking form as he extended his senses beyond his physical form. "Excellent, the specimen is in prime condition. My lord will be most pleased" He turned to his guard: "Prepare to move the pod to our barge and take care to keep the stasis-field intact." His crimson eyes gleamed with malice." Set course for Ultramar"

**Segmentum Ultima, Espandor system, Ultramar Academy located on Emeris, secondary moon of Espandor**

Shub winced as Mistress Selma smacked him on the back of the head as she passed between the rows of Schola Progenium students sitting at their desks. Her aged and wrinkled face was set in a frown as she patrolled the classroom in her grey rather shapeless uniform. The subject of the day was Imperial Iconography and as usual Shub had been bored with identifying the proper sigils belonging to the Adeptus Administratums 4th tier of administrative sanctions. His data slate was filled with drawings, schematics and formulae, none of them even remotely related to the subject he was supposed to be studying. "Shub, three extra shifts of sanitary cleaning duty" Mistress Selma said in a tired voice. "For the love of the Emperor boy, I will get you to pay attention to class before your time here is up" Shub sneaked a glance around the classroom, a spacious stone hall lined with elaborately engraved stone pillars soaring upward to disappear in the smoke filled air. Diagonally in front of him sat Kelvin, a friendly youth of 15 who could have been a poster boy for Imperial Guard recruitment _"Enlist with the Guard, travel the galaxy, meet interesting people, and kill them" _Kelvins view of life was simple: Serve the Emperor, deliver his will and all will be well. The blonde boy turned around and met Shubs gaze and rolled his eyes theatrically. His simple view of life did not prevent him from having a wicked sense of humour and he had quickly become one of Shubs closest friends at the Academy. Shub mentally added the three extra days of cleaning toilets to his already impressive tally and concluded that he would be scraping faeces and urine for the next seven months if he kept up his current rate. He sighed and tabbed the rune of deletion on his data-slate and tried to focus on the numerals in High Gothic denoting the myriad branches of Imperial bureaucracy.

He had been at the Academy for just over half a year now and had settled in nicely. He had made friends and enemies but most importantly Shub had learned how the Academy worked. Displaying an almost freakish ability to absorb, retain and correlate information had made the academic part of the curriculum a walk in the proverbial park. Most of his effort was spent trying to convince the tutors he was working and studying hard when, in fact, his mind often wandered to other subjects. The long hours delving in musty tomes, studying charts and lists and reciting Imperial Doctrine were spent waiting eagerly for the section of the curriculum Shub looked forward to: combat.

It was in the dusty proving grounds, the weapons ranges, and in the halls were they were taught the Tactica Imperialis that Shub felt he was truly alive. His marksmanship, ferocity in close combat, and mastery of complex strategy had placed Shub at the very top of the Academies students. Some whispered that he might even reach the same level as some of the Academies infamous alumni who had graduated to become Admirals, Storm troopers, Commissars and even Adepts of the Officio Assasinorum. His achievements were, however undermined by a serious problem with authority. Having come from a background of forced labour and the constant threat of violence Shub had a lot of trouble deferring to the Tutors and elder students. For every outstanding result he achieved in tests and exams he received two reprimands for disobedience and breach of Schola Protocol. Namuth, who was swiftly becoming Shubs nemesis, was almost the exact opposite: Tall, handsome and eloquent he was the epitome of a cultured, noble-born youth. He worked hard and received almost constant praise from the tutors and staff for both his results and his attitude. Nearly every class served as an example to praise Namuth and belittle Shubs accomplishments. Only in the proving grounds, under Drill-Abbot Shagtars watchful gaze did the two face each other, freed of rules and opinions, decorum and etiquette. Just two boys locked in unarmed combat. The daily sparring sessions inevitably ended with the pair of them facing off in front of the entire class. After his initial loss Namuth had quickly altered and improved his style of fighting and the two were usually an even match.

A claxon sounded heralding the end of the class and Shub quickly gathered his materials and raced for the exit, nearly bumping into Namuth. "Watch your step low-born, you wouldn't want to make stains on the floor here now would you? I hear blood is ever so difficult to get out of the carpet" the elder boy snarled. His usual trio of henchmen crowded around Shub and glared at him. Shub stared back at Namuth without flinching:" I can understand you're anxious to face me alone Namuth, especially after that trashing I gave you yesterday. How's that arm by the way? It sounded like something snapped when I floored you" Several other students filing past them to leave the class, including Kelvin, sniggered at the joke and Namuths face flushed red in embarrassment. Before he could reply Shub had slipped past them and was on his way to the firing range. Today would be their first time on the assault course; a combination of obstacle course, target-practice, and a gauge of their ability to make decisions under pressure. Shub whistled softly as he walked to the area where the range was located. Life wasn't too bad at the academy he thought as he anticipated the challenge of the assault course.

**Ultramar Academy, Grand Master Osirians office**

Grandmaster Osirian coughed violently, great hacking coughs at first giving way to a softer rasping cough as he gasped for breath. He dabbed at his mouth to remove saliva and was not surprised to see the handkerchief come away red. Reclining in the grand seat at his desk he mused on the paradox of his function: Master of one of the most lauded institutions in the Realm of Ultramar yet but a pawn in the plots of the Inquisition. Trembling with rage and shame he thought back to the total lack of emotional reaction the Inquisitor had shown when murdering his student. Liandil had been one of his most prized pupils destined for a grand career in one of the segmentums battlefleets. She had progressed through the Academies classes swiftly with top grades and had shown unwavering loyalty to the creed of the God-Emperor. And now she lay buried, her death explained as 'an unfortunate accident' Osirian slammed his fist on the desk, scattering a few sheets of reports and overturning an empty glass. One of his administrative assistants appeared in the door opening: "Is everything alright Master?" Osirian waved him away angrily. Humiliation, and death. All this for one boy with an unknown history.

"We shall see what happens to your boy Inquisitor. We shall see" the exhausted Grand Master whispered to himself as his mind was filled with thoughts of revenge.


End file.
